


beyond all recognition

by frillshark



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Kalina's monologues, Memory Loss, Permanent Injuries, Phone Calls, Pre-Canon, Recovery, Seizures, Traumatic Brain Injury, aka bite of 87 au, au where pok survives getting attacked by goldenhoard, csi knowledge garnered entirely from bfu true crime and a forensics class i took last quarter, depictions of hospitals that honestly feel way too real, dont think about the layout of the gukgak apartment too hard ok, generally depressing conversations, given the fact that fig's doctor impersonation scene exists in the same universe, god this is fucked up, gukgaks can have a little breakdown. as a treat, interrogations, liberal usage of the detect thoughts spell, more tags to be added as I go along, remembering the gukgak extended family exists, sklonda "lovemyhusband" gukgak and pok "lovemywife" gukgak, taking liberties with the solisian secret service and just about everything else, the fic no one asked for, the girls are fighting!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 52,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26084035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frillshark/pseuds/frillshark
Summary: On a dark night in the Bastion City harbor district, Pok Gukgak survives despite all odds—but there's always a price to be paid. The resulting fallout is only the beginning.
Relationships: Sklonda Gukgak/Pok Gukgak
Comments: 64
Kudos: 72





	1. smoking gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so MAYBE i changed the canon timeline a little to make this work.....but it makes it more depressing also would it not be fucked up for goldenhoard attacking pok to just be completely unrelated to his Ultra Dangerous Mission He Might Not Come Back From™...i am just saying

Two months.

Sklonda had tried not to count the days, tried not to think about the weight of every passing week. You would’ve thought she’d gotten used to the long absences by now, and in a way she had—and yet she still found herself lying awake at night, wondering where Pok might be (If he was safe, if he was any closer to coming home, if he ever lied awake at night and wondered the same thing about her). He was beyond capable of taking care of himself, obviously, but it was hard for her not to worry.

She had to keep reminding herself that there was no use getting caught up in the what-ifs, because frankly there wasn’t really anything she could do about it either way. Time kept moving regardless of whether or not she was worrying about him. She had her own work to be concerned about, and Riz was in fourth grade now, and the air conditioner in the apartment needed fixing again, and Pok would be alright. Pok would come back.

She did not let herself think about the possibility that he wouldn’t. 

It had been an ordinary Saturday morning about two months into Pok’s mission. Sklonda had left for her office early in the morning, leaving a box of cereal on the counter and a note for Riz instructing him not to get into too much trouble while she was gone. She’d grabbed her case of files, walked out the door, and driven down to the precinct just in time for her shift. With a cup of coffee in hand, she’d taken a seat at her desk and started organizing paperwork that would no doubt take a decent chunk of the day to finish.

And then, about an hour later, her crystal started ringing. 

At first, she ignored it. She was in the middle of something right now, and one glance down told her it was an unfamiliar Bastion City number, which cut down the likelihood that the call was pertinent to her significantly. It was probably a scam anyway—if Sklonda had a gold piece for every time she got a call asking for her credit card information for some suspicious reason or another, they’d have enough to move into an apartment who’s air conditioner didn’t break every couple months. 

But as she watched the crystal ring and ring, a sudden prickle of unease entered her body. Maybe it was how wary she was by nature, maybe it was the inherent worry that came with Pok’s long absences, but it did seem a little odd to get a call from Bastion City this early in the morning. 

What the hell. If it _was_ a scam call, she could use the laugh anyway. 

On the last ring before it went to voicemail, Sklonda bit the bullet and picked up the call. “... Uh, hello?”

“Hello, is this Mrs. Gukgak speaking?” The voice on the other end was sharp, to-the-point, and entirely unfamiliar. She narrowed her eyes in uncertainty as she tightened her grip on the crystal. 

“Who’s asking?” 

The voice didn’t miss a beat in responding. “We’re calling from Sanctum Medical Center in Bastion City. Ma’am, do you have a moment to talk?”

Sklonda knew this tone of voice all too well: This was _bad_ news. She could feel a cold shudder run through her as she quickly scanned the room. There weren’t many other people here this early (a couple of the on-call guys were finishing up a shift, Dusty was leaning back in his chair with a cigarette despite the no-smoking policy) but she found herself getting to her feet anyway and making for the hallway. After a frigid pause only punctuated by the sound of her own footsteps on the polished floor, she managed a “Sorry, I- Go on, go on,” all while sketching up a frantic list of possibilities in her head about what they could possibly be calling her for—was it one of her parents? It wasn’t like there were a lot of people in Bastion City with her number as an emergency contact. Sanctum Medical Center didn’t ring any bells either—was this some sort of mistake? What the fuck was going _on_?

But no amount of mental detective work could have ever, _ever_ prepared her for what the receptionist said next. 

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Gukgak. Your husband Pok was admitted to our emergency department this morning in critical condition. We need you to come in as soon as possible.” 

Anybody who had ever met Sklonda knew that a confident and cutting remark was never far behind with her. She prided herself on having the last word, on always knowing what to say, on never letting someone catch her off guard. It made her stand out, in a way that only a three-and-a-half foot tall woman from a hard part of town with a hard sort of history could. 

For the first time in a long time, she genuinely had no idea what to say. 

She felt her grip on her crystal loosen, her hand trembling ever so slightly, and it was only then that she remembered she was standing alone in a hallway on a call with the receptionist for a hospital across the country. “... Wait, _what?_ How? What happened?” Far from the controlled, critical question she’d wanted it to be, Sklonda’s voice was frantic and shaky. Sure, Pok had had his fair share of injuries both on and off the job—a broken wrist here, a sprained ankle there, a shot to the shoulder once—but she’d never seen him come home with anything less than a smile on his face and a cheery _you should have seen the other guy!_ Never before had she gotten a call from the hospital at eight in the morning telling her that her husband was seriously hurt. Never before had she had to hear the damning, damning words _critical condition_.

There was a bit of hesitation on the other end that Sklonda could just barely pick up on. “We can’t say much for certain at the moment. The source of his injuries are unclear but it appears that he was attacked by some sort of creature in-“

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Before she could even realize she was doing it, Sklonda was already marching back into the room, back to her desk, and starting to shove files into her case. “You- You said he’s at Sanctum Medical Center, right? Can you give me the full address?”

The next few minutes passed by in a whirlwind of movement. Almost as soon as she’d set everything out, she had packed it all back up and was heading out to her car. She just barely noticed the bewildered looks from her coworkers as she left, which she honestly couldn’t have cared less about at the moment—she had to go _now._ She would call the chief in the car out on the highway explaining what had happened if she had to. With shaking hands and crystal pressed up against her ear, Sklonda wrote out the address and number for Sanctum Medical Center on a scrap of paper as the woman on the other end tried and failed to reassure her that the hospital employed _only_ the best to treat their patients. 

It was only after what felt like an eternity that she hung up and realized she was going to have to tell Riz.

Fuck, what was she going to tell Riz?

* * *

Sklonda grappled with the question the entire drive over to Strongtower Luxury Apartments. That was how she kept her hands steady on the wheel—by focusing on the questions, how to solve them, and what action to take next. If she was thinking about whether or not to bring Riz along, then that meant she wouldn’t be thinking about Pok, alone and bleeding out on an operating table in Bastion City.

 _We need you to come in as soon as possible_. Hospitals didn’t tell you that unless something was _really_ fucking wrong. That was the hospital way of saying _hey, there’s a pretty good chance he could die but we don’t want to say that over the phone so you better haul ass over here if you want to say goodbye._ It was honestly infuriating just how indirect they were. Why bother leaving out the details with something that serious? When it came to the words “critical condition”, you _really_ didn’t want to leave too much to the imagination.

For the briefest moment, she let herself truly entertain the possibility that Pok might be dying. That she would drop everything and take Riz to Bastion City—the full four or five hour drive—and reach the door of Sanctum Medical Center only to be told by some painfully sympathetic doctor that they’d showed up too late. That despite how clever and quick-witted and endlessly competent Pok was, he was still just a little goblin clawing his way through a career poised to stamp him out at any moment. That one day, he would make a mistake, and it would be his last. 

Riz didn’t need to face how cruel that was right now. He _shouldn’t_ have to face that.

So, after sitting in the car for another five minutes, Sklonda picked up her crystal and called the Luckstones.

“Hey, Jasper, how’s it going? Good? Listen, I’m so sorry to ask you this on such short notice, but…” 

She’d known the Luckstones for a solid year now, ever since Riz had gotten sick (again) one day in third grade and she’d had to come pick him up from school. To her surprise, Sklonda had walked in the door of the nurse’s office to find her son chatting brightly with a fifth-grade girl who was apparently stuck on assistant duty that day. When she’d asked about her on the drive back home, Riz had replied with a shocking amount of enthusiasm for an eight-year-old who’d just thrown up at school and had a 101 degree fever. _Her name’s Penny! She’s super cool and nice and she likes to read the mystery chapter books in the library just like me!_

It was probably the closest thing to a friend Riz had had in years. She couldn’t not be interested.

Things had only gone up from there. Sklonda had officially met the Luckstones a couple months later at a school conference night. She’d watched as Riz’s eyes practically lit up with stars when Penny had invited him to play hide and seek with her. And as the two of them raced off, Jasper Luckstone had turned to her and shook her hand and they talked for what was probably a full fifteen minutes before conferences started. They’d gotten together more times after that than she could count. Penny had even offered to babysit Riz for them occasionally once she’d hit middle school, giving Pok and Sklonda the rare opportunity to have a night out. 

If she couldn’t trust the Luckstones with Riz, she didn’t know who she could.

Sklonda tried to keep the explanation as brief as possible—Pok was in the hospital, things looked bad, she needed to leave as soon as she possibly could, can I please leave Riz with you for a couple days while everything’s being sorted out? For the most part she was able to keep her tone under control, but at the words “sorted out” she felt her voice begin to crack. Jasper stopped her with a soft _Sklonda, dear_ , before saying _Of course we can take Riz. You know just how much Penny loves the kid._

Despite everything, she felt herself relax a little (she hadn’t realized just how _tense_ she’d been up until now). She immediately offered to pay her back, only to be met by Jasper waving it off with a _No, no, there’s no need for that. Just take care of your husband for now—what kind of people would we be not to help you out when you needed it?_ Sklonda didn’t cry very easy, but there was a moment where she was sitting there listening and genuinely fighting tears. 

After thanking Jasper profusely, she finally set the crystal down again and, before she could make herself hesitate, headed up to their apartment. It was a grim walk, but at this point her sheer determination was enough to outweigh how much it was going to hurt to have to soften the painful, painful truth for Riz. He was a smart kid—surprisingly insightful for someone his age—and she couldn’t help but worry that he’d see right through her and ask what was _really_ wrong. She honestly didn’t know if she’d be able to take it.

When Sklonda walked in the door, she was met with a startled Riz lying on the floor deep into some jigsaw puzzle they’d bought from a garage sale two years prior. The look of surprise wore off almost instantly as he sprung to his feet and rushed over to give her an energetic hug. “Mom! Hi!” His voice was muffled slightly by the fact that he’d just buried his face into her shirt. He pulled back after a moment to squint up at her curiously and say “You’re home _really_ early.”

“Hey there, kiddo,” She ran a hand through Riz’s unruly curls before pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Everything alright over here? Did you get yourself breakfast?” It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time he’d gotten so engrossed in a book or a puzzle or a game that he forgot to get something to eat. 

Riz nodded enthusiastically, but the inquisitive expression on his face didn’t waver. Sklonda could feel her own smile beginning to fade. There was no point in trying to put any of this off. 

“Can we sit down and talk for a moment, Riz?”

A pang of guilt rattled through her as Riz became noticeably less excited, but he sat down on the couch with her anyway. She put a comforting arm around his shoulders (perhaps to steady herself more than to steady Riz) and slowly began with “... Dad’s been out of town for a little while, yeah?”

“It’s been a _long_ while, actually,” Riz narrowed his eyes in minor exasperation as Sklonda fought the instinctual urge to scoff at him. He must have noticed a change in her expression, though, because he quickly added “But yeah.”

Sklonda’s claws unconsciously tightened on Riz’s jacket as she tried to steel herself for what she was about to say next. “I got a call today from a hospital in Bastion City,” Her voice had gone very, very quiet. “They’re saying dad got hurt, and that I have to go down there to see him.” 

Riz stared at her for a moment, his face suddenly going blank. She was beginning to worry that he might burst into tears until, in a tone even quieter than hers had been, he worriedly whispered “How? Is he okay?”

The question was so simple, but _god_ did it feel like being burned. “I don’t know yet,” Sklonda decided to be honest. “But you know what I _do_ know? That your dad is the smartest, toughest goblin in Solace. I’m sure that he’s gonna be just fine.” She swallowed hard at the end of her words, praying that she would be able to keep her voice steady long enough to get through them.

And Riz looked genuinely surprised at that, his eyes wide and ears pricked in interest. “... No _way_. Even tougher than you?”

“Okay, maybe that’s debatable,” Sklonda jokingly admitted, unable to stop herself from laughing a bit. Her smile quickly dropped, though, and it didn’t take long for the mood to grow somber again. “But just in case, I’m gonna have to go down to Bastion City for a few days. Which is why I’ve got a really important job for you to do.”

 _Now_ she had Riz’s full attention.

“I need you to hold down the fort here in Elmville,” She said slowly, deliberately. The words “important job” alone had Riz practically hanging on her every word. “I’ve talked to the Luckstones, and they’ve said you can stay with them until I get back. And until then, you gotta make sure things are all under control, okay?” Sklonda gave him a conspiratorial wink, and she knew immediately that Riz would _never_ say no to a request like that. 

Riz’s eyes had lit up like stars, and suddenly he seemed so young and so old at the exact same time. “Mom, I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” Sklonda brought him in for another hug. This time, it was so he wouldn’t have to see the tears that were once again pricking at her eyes.

* * *

The Luckstones lived over in Littlebranch, which wasn’t very far away at all, and Sklonda was willing to take whatever small mercy she could get. By now it was a little later in the morning, closer to nine or ten o’clock. She tried hard not to let it bother her too much. _You’ll be on the road soon. You’ll be on the road soon._

As she turned another corner, she glanced back into the rearview mirror at Riz, who was staring out the window with a glimmer of excitement in his eyes (it was a look he never seemed to lose, always searching and thinking and asking questions. She hoped he never stopped doing that). On the seat next to him was one of Pok’s old briefcases—a little scuffed and banged-up, but it wasn’t like he’d had a lot to pack for the trip anyway. 

She blinked the sting away from her eyes, and suddenly they were pulling up in front of the Luckstone’s house. It was a nice place, nestled away where the city met the suburbs. Choking back her restlessness, Sklonda turned around to look at Riz directly and put on a smile. “You ready, kiddo?”

Riz snapped away from the window, ears pricking up at the sound of her voice. “Yeah, I’m ready!” 

It was a massive relief that at least one of them seemed to be in high spirits. With a soft sigh that she hoped Riz wouldn’t think too much of, Sklonda opened the car door and stepped outside. 

To her surprise, Jasper and Oliver Luckstone were already standing on the porch waiting for her with Penny close behind. Penny, unsurprisingly, looked just as excited as Riz was, but her parents were decidedly more reserved, more concerned. Nevertheless, Sklonda waited for Riz to get out of the car, carrying the battered briefcase along with him. 

Or, well, he _was_ carrying the briefcase, because the moment Penny spotted him she immediately rushed over to give him a hug. “Hey Riz!”

“Hi Penny!” Came Riz’s slightly squeaky response as he tried and failed to pick the briefcase back up off the ground. Sklonda came to the rescue by taking it for him before sidling over to where Jasper and Oliver were standing. 

“I want to thank you two again,” Normally, Sklonda would have thought one time was enough, but this clearly wasn’t a very normal day in the first place. “I know Riz can be a bit of a handful sometimes. It means a lot to me, really.” 

Both of their expressions softened at her words, and Oliver was first to speak. “It’s really no big deal, Sklonda,” He hesitated for a moment, looking over her shoulder to where Penny and Riz were still catching up. “I heard about Pok,” His voice was quiet. “God, I’m so sorry. Is he…?” 

“Critical condition. It’s not looking good,” Sklonda felt her ears flatten against her head as she spoke. “They wouldn’t tell me much, but they said he got attacked by something. I just… I honestly still can’t believe it.” She’d spent so many years waiting for the day that Pok didn’t come home that she’d almost gotten used to it—or at least she thought she had, because now that it was actually happening it was so, _so_ much worse than she’d ever imagined. She could still remember his words the day before he’d left, his reassuring smile and comforting tone. _I’m gonna be just fine, honey. Not even the nine hells could keep me down for long._

Something must have changed in her expression, because Jasper suddenly reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, dear. But if you ever need to talk, just know our door is always open.” 

Sklonda managed a tired ghost of a smile in return. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” The way her shoulders trembled under Jasper’s hands said otherwise.

She turned back to Riz not long after that, who took the briefcase from her again (which he could honestly barely lift in the first place). At this point, Sklonda had steeled herself once more so that her voice wouldn’t tremble upon saying “Don’t cause any trouble for the Luckstones, alright? That _especially_ means going to bed on time. I’ll make sure to call when I get to Bastion City.” 

“I won’t. I haven’t forgotten about the mission,” Riz nodded in affirmation, but his enthusiasm had died down a little and in its place was a look of quiet concern. Hesitantly, he added “Can you tell dad I said hi? Tell him I’m taking care of things?”

Immediately, Sklonda knew the time she’d spent trying to keep herself together was for nothing. In a hasty attempt to hide the tears starting to pool in her eyes for what felt like the fifth time that morning, she kneeled down to pull Riz into a tight hug. “I promise it’ll be the first thing I tell him.”

She said her goodbyes, but everything suddenly seemed to be going by all too fast. As Sklonda got back in the car and turned the ignition, she was already calculating the route ahead—whether it would shave off more time to stop at a gas station now or an hour or so on the road, which highway would be easier to take at this time of day, how much she was willing to test the speed limit. 

And when she glanced back one last time to catch a glimpse of Riz on the lawn of the Luckstone’s house, she tried not to think about what she might have to say to him the next time they saw each other—that Pok would never be coming home again. 

She couldn’t crack now. She had to stay focused.

Almost as soon as she left Elmville’s city limits, the drive began to blur together, only punctuated by the occasional call she had to make on the road. First for the chief (in retrospect, it probably hadn’t been the most logical decision to just up and leave without explaining why) who, unsurprisingly, let her off the hook relatively easily. Normally the amount of leniency and unprofessionalism at the precinct irritated Sklonda to no end, but she didn’t have it in her to complain when she really, _really_ needed things to work out for her right now. 

Next was the call she’d been quietly dreading all morning—asking Sanctum Medical Center for an update. On one hand Sklonda was terrified they would tell her right then and there that Pok was dead (or dying as they spoke), but at the same time she didn’t think she could stand staying in the dark for the four hours it would take to reach Bastion City. It took all of the strength she had to slowly punch in the hospital’s number while keeping her eyes on the road ahead. 

The call immediately went to an automated line. _Fuck._

After a decent six minutes of waiting, Sklonda was eventually directed to the receptionist, who she immediately recognized as the same one from earlier (making her wonder just how big a hospital it could be). Taking a moment to steady her voice, she carefully asked “Hello, this is Sklonda Gukgak, I was called earlier today that my husband Pok was admitted here? I’m on my way to Bastion City right now, and has- Has anything changed that I need to know about?” She managed to keep her tone professional, but the way her hand tightened hard on the wheel as she spoke told an entirely different story. 

There was an intensely nerve-wracking pause, but then the receptionist spoke up with a “Well, he’s still in our surgical ward, but we can call you if anything significant happens,” that both reassured and terrified her, because it had to be _really_ bad if Pok had been in surgery since at least eight in the morning. It was all she could do to gratefully accept and ask if there was anything else she could tell her about what had happened in the meantime.

Which wasn’t really much. The receptionist, who she later learned was named Amanda, was hesitant to share any real details over the crystal, but Sklonda did manage to get a few key points out of her—that one, he had been found injured in the Bastion City harbors, and two, that he’d originally been sent to Queen Alexandria Memorial Hospital before being transferred over. It wasn’t anything earth-shattering, but the fact that Pok had been in Bastion City was somewhat confusing to her. The whole time, she’d been under the assumption that he’d gotten hurt while out of the country, but this happening so close to home felt… Off, somehow. 

Sklonda had thanked Amanda and hung up, and for the most part the drive was uneventful. Forests and fields and little towns peppered here and there all blurred together, just barely being clocked in her own vision. She made exactly one stop, a gas station about two hours into the drive, and using those precious few minutes of downtime she searched up “sanctum medical center” online. Apparently, it was some sort of private hospital on the edge of Bastion City, toeing the line between governmentally funded and governmentally ignored. A military hospital, almost. All Sklonda cared about was that they knew what they were dealing with when it came to Pok.

The hospital called her just one more time, when she was only about an hour away, to tell her that Pok was finally out of surgery. That, if his condition continued stabilizing, she could probably go in and see him as soon as she got there. It had taken every last fiber of patience in her not to slam down on the gas pedal and break the speed limit even further than she already was to get there quicker. 

Finally, as the sun began to cast a shimmering golden glow on the distant skyscrapers, Sklonda took her last exit into a crumbling parking lot. Sanctum Medical Center was imposing, like all hospitals were, made of reflecting windows that caught the light of the sky. Sklonda was sure to take the bag she’d packed for herself before leaving the apartment, because she knew that as soon as she got inside this place it would take hell to get her out. 

It was only when she took that first step through the emergency department entrance that the reality of it all _really_ sunk in. After being essentially on autopilot for the past four or five hours, the sharp smell of chemicals that permeated the waiting room floor was a jarring wake-up call—that Pok really _was_ hurt, that she really _had_ driven all the way to Bastion City, and that she truly had _no_ idea what had even happened to land her husband in a hospital in the first place. 

She found herself in front of the main desk somehow, facing a human receptionist that—sure enough—had a shiny nametag reading _Amanda Moore_. Amanda looked down at her with a surprisingly bright look given the clinical tone of her voice and said “Oh! You must be Mrs. Gukgak.”

Sklonda could assume that this borderline-military hospital didn’t get many goblin patients.

“Sure is,” God, she sounded tired. “How’s Pok doing? Do you know where I can find him?”

Amanda squinted over at her desktop crystal and typed something in. “We moved him to our intensive care unit not long ago. I can give you the directions, but first-“ Sklonda assumed she was going to ask her to take out some kind of identification or something, but instead she nonchalantly whipped out some kind of arcanotech scanner and pointed it directly into her eyes. She didn’t even have time to flinch before Amanda was already nodding slowly at the device, muttering _illusion test negative_ , and looking back up with an apologetic “Sorry, ma’am. It’s standard procedure.” 

Sklonda bit back a _christ, you could have just asked for my driver’s license_ , but what worried her more was the fact that they even _had_ to do illusion tests here in the first place. 

“Anyway, you can find him on the second floor in room 216. Dr. Starling should be waiting for you there, and she can answer your questions better than I can,” Amanda continued, and it took all Sklonda had not to immediately bolt up the stairs upon hearing what room she had to go to.

She just barely managed to get through the forms that Amanda gave her before heading up to the second floor, every step she took echoing on the polished linoleum. There was another help desk barring the entrance to the hospital’s intensive care ward, and for a moment Sklonda was worried she was about to get bogged down again with an additional round of question-and-answer, until a tall water genasi in the middle of filling out a clipboard noticed her standing there. The genasi strode over, and before Sklonda could even begin to ask anything she stuck out a hand to shake. 

“Good afternoon. I can assume you’re Sklonda Gukgak?” Her voice was clipped and professional, as immaculate as her pressed lab coat and perfectly balanced glasses. She looked satisfied at the nod Sklonda gave her, and continued with “I’m Dr. Starling. I’ve been presiding over your husband’s case.” 

“It’s, uh, good to meet you,” Even as she stepped back from the handshake, she could still feel just how tough Dr. Starling’s grip had been. “I don’t have to go through any more illusion tests, right?” 

It wasn’t a joke, but Dr. Starling frowned ever so slightly regardless. Instead of responding, she started down the hall and gestured for Sklonda to follow. “Come with me. I’ll fill you in on what we know.”

Sklonda didn’t even bother trying to hide her apprehension as she rushed to catch up, taking two hurried steps for every one of Dr. Starling’s long strides. She’d been waiting _all fucking day_ for some actual _fucking_ answers, and if that came with a little loss of composure, then so be it. She was almost too tired to care anymore.

“We were given some key information by the Solisian government when Mr. Gukgak was transferred here,” Dr. Starling gestured at a stack of files on her clipboard that practically looked like a small novel. “So I hope I don’t alarm you by discussing his profession openly.” Honestly, Sklonda was pretty sure she would have talked about it regardless of whether she was comfortable with that or not, but she kept quiet and listened anyway. 

For the past six hours or so, Sklonda had spent every moment in a state of barely concealed dread. One of her worst nightmares had finally come true. But at the same time, she’d hung on to the hope that she might be able to stay tough through this—that no matter how bad Pok’s condition ended up being, she would be able to handle hearing about it. 

When Dr. Starling began to speak again, she realized just how foolish she’d been. She never could have prepared herself for what this would feel like.

Pok had been found unconscious, beaten, and bleeding to death in a back alley of the Bastion City harbor district. Somebody had called an ambulance, he was taken to Queen Alexandria Memorial Hospital, and it was only then that the Solisian department of security realized he’d never showed up for his report. Before anybody there could even begin to treat him properly, he’d been transferred here—for security reasons, said Dr. Starling—and by then it had become horribly clear what must have happened to him. 

Long, jagged lacerations all along his side. Four crushed ribs. Internal bleeding. But by far the most damning injury of all was the bite wound to his face—the bite that had nearly killed Pok before the paramedics could even arrive to stabilize him magically. The bite that had already ruined his left eye and ear beyond repair. 

The bite that had punctured his skull and promised that no matter what, he was never going to be the same. 

They’d stopped walking at some point, but Sklonda had hardly even noticed. There was a dull ringing in her ears that left her staring blankly up at Dr. Starling, unable to fully process what she’d just told her. This wasn’t right. This _couldn’t_ be right. This entire day, the whole two months even, felt like a horrid nightmare that had finally reached its peak. Any moment now, she was going to wake up to Riz trying to retrieve one of his blocks out from under the bed, and Pok- Pok would be-

She swallowed hard, feeling her hands trembling at her side. “You… You said he was on his way to give a report to the Solisian government?” Was the first thing she was able to choke out, voice hoarse and quiet in a way that she didn’t have the strength to hide anymore.

For the first time, Dr. Starling’s expression creased in the tiniest show of sympathy. “From what the documents told me, he’d just completed his foreign assignment.”

Somehow, that detail was the one that hit the hardest out of everything she’d just heard. _He’d been so close. He’d been so_ fucking _close._

In the back of her head—the part that still retained her detective’s instincts—she realized that something was very wrong here, and not just in the obvious sense. Pok knew Bastion City like the back of his hand. He’d lived there, grown up there, walked through its shadiest streets more times than either of them could count. She’d watched him get into so many scrapes over the years, and never once had he forgotten what a larger creature could do to a three-foot-seven, sixty-pound goblin if he wasn’t careful. The Pok she knew would never, _ever_ have gotten mauled like that by someone— _something_ —on home turf. 

But before Sklonda could continue down that train of thought, Dr. Starling spoke up once again. “Mrs. Gukgak, I’m going to be honest with you right now,” Immediately, the dread was back. “Your husband’s prognosis is promising. He’s a relatively young and healthy man, and I don’t doubt that, with proper treatment, his physical injuries will eventually heal to the best of their ability.

“However,” And there it came. “We can’t possibly know the full extent of the damage until he wakes up and we can run further tests. Injuries to the brain can be incredibly complicated to treat, even with magical medicine. I want to warn you, Mrs. Gukgak, that even if his recovery goes well, he might never be the same person again.” 

Sklonda kept quiet and nodded slowly. She didn’t trust herself to speak in fear that her voice would finally shatter.

Finally, after a long, long pause, Dr. Starling cleared her throat. “He’s been mostly stable for the past couple hours. We can let you in to see him, just be aware that he’s being monitored frequently by our staff right now.” 

She snapped her head up from where she’d been staring at the wall behind Dr. Starling. “I- Thank you,” Sklonda winced at the crack in her words. “God, thank you so much.” 

“If I get any significant updates, I’ll be sure to inform you,” Dr. Starling walked down a couple more doors before stopping at a placard titled _room 216_. Sklonda watched as her face softened once more, a flicker of sorrow behind those immaculate glasses. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.”

And with that, she left her standing alone by the door. 

Sklonda took in a deep breath, and then another, and another. The composure she’d tried so hard to maintain was _long_ gone by now, and she could feel the way her claws trembled and her tail lashed in agitation. She needed to stay level-headed. Working herself into a panic would help absolutely no one, least of all Pok. 

If she broke down now, when he needed _somebody_ to be by his side more than ever before, then she would have truly failed him. 

There was no point in putting this off, not after just how taxing it had been to even get to this point. Sklonda once again held back her tears and walked inside. 

The room was technically designed to hold multiple people, but it was curtained off at several points to give the illusion of privacy (which, right now, she honestly couldn’t have been more grateful for). Sklonda felt a shiver go through her body, even though it was objectively warmer in here than the hall outside. Despite Dr. Starling’s warning about just how much foot traffic this place was going to get, for now the room was empty, leaving her and Pok alone. 

God, Pok looked fucking _awful_.

When she’d first stepped inside, Sklonda had made a point not to look directly at the bed. Now, as she finally gave in, every part of that haunting diagnosis came back to hit her like a truck. Surrounded by walls of white and bleached curtains and arcanotech machines was Pok—bloodied, bruised, and eerily still. Not even the crinkled sheets could hide the flashes of stained bandages littered around his body. Each one of his slow, rattling breaths seemed like an afterthought. Most prominent were the bandages wrapped tightly around the left side of his face, obscuring the true extent of the damage, but she could tell by his slightly furrowed expression (even deep in unconsciousness) just how much it hurt. 

The man lying in that all-too-big hospital bed didn’t seem like Pok. Pok was lively and charming and clever and _infuriatingly_ confident. He had treated her with nothing but admiration from the moment they met. He had openly sobbed holding Riz for the first time. He had agreed to move to Elmville in a heartbeat if it meant she would be getting a promotion. He had cherished every fucking moment he’d spent with them, because he always knew it could be the last. 

He had never, _ever_ let anyone take his self-respect away from him. He had never been so still.

“Hey, honey,” Sklonda hadn’t even realized she’d stepped closer until she had already reached out to touch Pok’s arm, carefully avoiding the IV taped to his wrist. He didn’t react, but she could feel the way subtle shivers were running through his exhausted, beaten body. “Riz says hi.” 

The room was quiet except for the gentle beeping of a crystalline heart monitor.

She couldn’t quite explain what she felt in that moment, but what she did know was as clear as day: That someone, somewhere, had mauled her husband like a fucking animal. And that, as far as she knew, the bastard was still roaming free in the streets of Bastion City.

“And I don’t know who did this to you,” Sklonda moved to grip his hand and give it a slow, comforting squeeze. “But I’m going to find them and tear their fucking face off.” 

Sklonda didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. She could barely get herself to leave the damn room. For the next seven hours, she fished out patient dossiers, interrogated nurses, flagged down doctors, all in search of anything—anything at _all_ —that would help her figure out what the hell had happened to her husband. She jotted down measurements of the bite wound and the claw marks (it had to be a medium class creature or lower, anything larger and he really would be dead), listed test results (no signs of lycanthropy, werewolves were out of the question), and made a timeline of every micro-event the hospital had numbers for. Every time she even _thought_ about getting tired, she took a good long look at Pok’s bloodied, bandaged face and immediately felt more awake than she’d ever been in her life. 

She called Riz once in the evening to check in on how he was doing. From the sound of his voice, he’d seemed over the moon with excitement— _Mom, Penny’s family is awesome! We had a water gun fight in the front yard!_ —but the way he quieted down when he asked how Pok was doing was genuinely heartbreaking. Sklonda gave him the abridged version, that he was hurt bad but getting better, and that as soon as he was feeling up to it she would let Riz talk to him. It had seemed to reassure him for now, and he’d given her a soft _goodnight, love you, I hope you and dad come home soon,_ that had left her frantically wiping at her eyes. 

This has been, without a doubt, one of the worst days of Sklonda’s life, but sometimes there was room for little mercies. Perhaps the universe had finally decided to cut her a break after this shitshow of a day, because at three in the morning—as she sat in that plastic chair, one hand flipping through documents and the other locked tightly in Pok’s fingers—she heard a quiet, pained noise.

At first, she thought she was genuinely starting to hallucinate, but then she saw Pok’s ear twitch, and the hand she’d been holding for so long now curled, and the beeping of the heart monitor quickened slightly. After waiting for hours upon hours for Pok to wake up, he finally cracked open his one remaining eye. 

Sklonda didn’t dare believe it. “... Pok?”

What happened next was difficult to process at first. Before she could do anything further, Pok had shot up in unmistakable panic, faster than it seemed possible for someone as injured as him to even attempt. For a moment he just frantically looked around the room, breathing heavily until he eventually locked eyes with her. As she stared into his exhausted gaze, hazy with confusion and fear and painkillers, she realized with a sinking heart that there was no recognition in there at all.

And then he let out an agonized cough, one that kickstarted a fit of wheezing that seemed to rattle his entire body. Finally, he lost the last of his strength and doubled over in pain. 

For a second, all Sklonda could do was watch in genuine horror. “Fuck- _Fuck-_ _Pok!”_ She raced to her feet to try and steady him as he shivered violently. Upon placing a hand on his chest, she could feel with a stab of panic the way his bandages were already getting soaked through with blood from the stitches he’d undoubtedly just snapped from moving too quickly. 

She must have shouted for somebody, or done something, because a couple nurses rushed in only a minute or so later. All the while, Pok was clinging to her in the tightest embrace she’d ever felt in her life. Sklonda made no attempt to move him as he shook and shivered and coughed into her shoulder. There was something truly desperate about the way he was gripping her, like he was afraid he’d lose her if he let go even the tiniest bit.

As one of the nurses pelted her with questions about what the fuck had just happened, she didn’t notice how he slowly but surely began to calm down in her arms, his violent shaking starting to subside. And then she heard it—a hoarse, hollow voice that sounded just about the furthest thing from Pok’s normally cheery, clever tone.

“... _Sklonda?”_

It was just one quiet word, spoken as if he was so afraid he was going to be wrong, but it was all it took to finally break her. Sklonda buried her face into Pok’s bloodied shirt and _cried_.

* * *

None of this had gone according to plan.

The clock on the bathroom wall read 6:51 AM, it’s slow ticking echoing throughout the tiled room. It was meticulously polished as always—after all, KVX banks had a very strict design policy—so it stood out glaringly when he set his claws down on the last sink in the line and flakes of long-dried blood fluttered onto the porcelain surface.

Yesterday had been, in a word, exhausting. From sneaking out of the harbor district in the early hours of the morning, to changing out of his incredibly suspicious bloodsoaked clothes, to arguing on crystals _all day_ with contacts and middlemen that _no_ , he couldn’t confirm the goblin was dead, that _yes_ , he was taking the necessary measures not to get caught. It seemed like a lot of fussing over someone who couldn’t possibly be that important, but he knew better than to say that out loud.

Goldenhoard glanced at himself in the mirror for a moment before turning on the faucet. He couldn’t help but scoff a little watching the last of the crusted-over blood wash off his claws and stain the sink red. Honestly, people were getting so sensitive nowadays. It would have been perfectly acceptable a couple centuries ago to show up to work with bloodstains on your hands—you might have even gotten a “Congratulations!” or a pat on the back for it. Now, though? An uncomfortable stare at _best_. Truly, the workplace had lost all of its friendly camaraderie in recent years.

Normally, Goldenhoard wasn’t the type to reflect too much. After all, true damage control was something handed off to people that were less important and had _far_ smaller paychecks. But he supposed that, for purely analytical reasons, he might have been a little… Unprofessional. That maybe, just maybe, it hadn’t been the smartest move to start shredding that goblin (Gukgak, if he was remembering the files right?) apart without a second thought. Frankly, though, could you blame him? It was just so hard to blow off steam with a restraining curse hanging over you. Separating rowdy students having a fistfight in the hall could _never_ come close to the feeling of bones cracking under your teeth when you bit down on someone’s head. 

Well, it wouldn’t be a mistake he’d forget soon. Goldenhoard grimaced as he tightened his tie a little higher than usual to hide the thickly bandaged bullet hole in his neck. That tricky little bastard had had a sharp eye and a steadier hand, he would give him that. 

But in the end, it was nothing but a minor setback. Sure, it was sad to miss out on what was supposed to be a mutually beneficial deal, but business always moved on. He had a morning meeting to attend to, the goblin had almost definitely bled to death by now, and he was certain that the fleeting taste of blood on his fangs was something he wouldn’t forget for a long, long time. 

As he shut the bathroom door, he didn’t notice the shadows on the wall shifting as the silhouette of a tabaxi slowly faded from view. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i REALLY did not think this was gonna be my debut fic into the d20 fandom but here we are lol....i have another fantasy high fic planned and i promise its not as fucked up as this. also its so hard to make goldenhoard feel intimidating hes such a joke nowadays


	2. one step forward, two steps back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alt title: pok gukgak has a breakdown for 13k words

The full weight of the situation did not sink in immediately. 

In all fairness, when he first woke up, everything had become chaos again. For a moment, the white walls were all dark brick, and the stiff bed was the cold concrete pavement, and the shadows being cast over him were sure indications that he hadn’t run far enough, fast enough, to get away safely. It was only when he felt those familiar hands and heard that familiar voice that he realized he had to be safe, because if danger was still nearby there was no way in hell that she wouldn’t be out there fighting it right now. 

And then came the flurry of questionnaires and tests and trials that left him tired and disoriented. He tried as hard as he could to comprehend as much information as possible, but the burning ache embedded deep in his brain made it difficult to even think properly. Besides, he couldn’t hope to understand half of the statistics being thrown around in the first place. It was better to just lie low until things made more sense—or at least until his head stopped hurting. 

When the dust finally settled, a tiny trickle of light had started to filter in from the window, and he was left staring down into a pair of worried yellow eyes. She had been quiet for a while now, listening intently to the cacophony of noise, but with it gone it seemed like she was at a loss for words. More alarmingly, she looked positively _exhausted_ , with ruffled clothing and drooping ears and drying tear tracks on her face. He hadn’t really gotten a good look until now. He couldn’t remember her seeming so sad.

“... What’s wrong, dear?” It took a moment for him to croak out the words. His lungs felt like they were lined with broken glass, and each intake took special effort to make sure nothing tore. It really didn’t help that his throat scratched like sandpaper every time he so much as thought about talking. Christ, he needed a glass of water. 

She jumped a little bit at the sound of his voice. For the first time in a while, she broke eye contact with him to glance down at the floor. “Me? I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” She smiled weakly up at him, but the look didn’t quite reach her eyes. “More importantly, how are _you_ doing?”

“Feels... Feels like I got trampled by an owlbear,” He chuckled a little out of habit, which quickly devolved into a painful cough. Despite how much it hurt to steady his breathing again, his voice didn’t lose it’s lighthearted tone when he spoke next. “... And I’ve got a _killer_ headache right now.” He tried to wink at her playfully—just to see her smile again—but he briefly forgot that something was wrong with his other eye, that he couldn’t quite get it to open, so the actual effect the gesture had was… Debatable.

“Yeah, no shit,” She laughed anyway, so he counted it as a win, but the sound was bitter and downcast. There was something off in her expression, something that told him she knew something he didn’t. Under any other circumstances he would have clocked it as something to find out as soon as possible, except that right now he was barely awake and his head kept pulsing painfully and if anything he’d heard was correct, he was on a _lot_ of painkillers. Man, what had he done to get this fucked up?

Suddenly, he realized she was staring at him expectantly, and when he attempted to recall the last fifteen seconds of the conversation his mind went eerily blank. It wasn’t something he was eager to chase—this headache was making short work of that. “Sorry, I- Say that again?” He forced himself to turn a little to hear her better, ignoring the bright sting of pain that sparked in his chest. 

But it seemed like he must not have hid the way he winced as well as he thought, because the look of worry on her face only deepened. “It’s- It’s nothing. I was just asking if you wanted me to see if I could get you something for it, if it’s really bothering you.” 

“Oh,” Was all he could think to say in reply. “No, it’s okay.” God, he was _tired_. He didn’t even think he had the energy to handle another conversation, headache-alleviating or not. “I think… I think I might turn in early tonight anyway.” Despite the deep haze that had settled over his mind, he was certain on one thing—that it was safe to sleep. He knew she’d be here to keep an eye on things. 

She glanced over at the window, but said nothing. Instead, she carefully squeezed his hand once (since when had they been holding hands?) and got up to plant a gentle kiss just above his one good eye. For a moment she just stood there, a sad, sad look on her face, before she softly said “You need the rest, Pok.”

He’d dozed off after a little while without a care in the world. But when he woke up next, in the late afternoon with Sklonda still unmoved by his side, Pok didn’t have that same luxury.

He’d had approximately five minutes to blearily get up, carefully sip at the shimmering red potion that had been pushed into his hands, and wonder why Sklonda still looked so dejected before the cold, hard realization came crashing in. Last night (or he assumed it was last night), he hadn’t been in the state of mind to deduce much besides the fact that a _lot_ of things hurt, but now he could feel the bruises and wires and stitches looping all across his side. And the headache that had used to be just a dull pain was suddenly _so_ much more intense, the implications of the bandages wrapped tightly around his face becoming horrifyingly clear. 

So the moment he was sure they were alone, he reached out for her arm despite how much it hurt to move and frantically asked _Sklonda, what the hell happened?_ Which soon turned into _What day is it? Where are we? How long has it been? Is Riz by himself?_ The questions just kept coming and coming as Pok hurriedly scanned the room for any hints that would clue him in to what was going on. If he was in the hospital, then that meant he’d _really_ fucked up, and if he’d really fucked up, then there could be a lot more at stake than just his health. 

The answers he got back were only somewhat reassuring— _it’s November eighth, we’re in Bastion City, you’ve been in here for about two days, I think, and Riz- Riz is fine, he’s staying with the Luckstones._ Sklonda was, if possible, even more serious in her words than he had been, but her explanations took a sudden pause as a very, very troubling look came over her face. Whatever she was about to say, he never got to find out, because at that moment a water genasi in a lab coat stepped into view (he hadn’t even noticed that she’d entered). When she saw him awake, she gave him a slight nod of what Pok could only assume to be approval.

“Mr. Gukgak,” The tone of her voice, however, was professional and clipped and did not reflect that assessment in the slightest. “I didn’t introduce myself properly earlier—my name is Dr. Starling. How are you feeling?”

Pok tried to sit up a little so that she wouldn’t tower over him as much, but the stitches in his chest stung like hell and made him give up pretty fast. “Never better,” He forced out through gritted teeth. 

Dr. Starling raised an eyebrow. “Stubborn, I see,” She muttered as she took a clipboard out from behind her back, flipping through page after page on a stack at least two inches thick. “Well, I won’t overwhelm you with the details right now, as I’m sure the pain medication has only just started to wear off, so I’ll keep this short.”

The explanation that came next had him wincing, but it at least made sense. Lacerations, broken ribs—it certainly checked out with the sharp, cracking pain in his chest. And then the doctor started talking about head trauma, and an eye and ear that had been left too damaged to save, and Pok couldn’t help but feel a little sick. It felt like a miracle that he was even alive right now, let _alone_ awake and alert. 

He was still processing everything she’d just told him when, without missing a beat, she continued with “As I said, Mr. Gukgak, you’re still in the midst of recovering. We don’t want to push you, but-“

“Pok, what _happened?_ _”_ Sklonda, who had been relatively quiet throughout the entire diagnosis, suddenly couldn’t keep it in anymore. She gave the doctor an apologetic look, but didn’t back down. “They told me you got attacked in the Bastion City harbors. Do- Do you remember anything? Who _did_ this to you?”

One look at her expression told him that this was the question she’d been dying to ask him for hours upon hours. There was worry there, and fear, but also a deep, righteous anger that made him shiver a bit. He honestly felt a little sorry for the person who ended up on the other end of that-

Pok stopped. Even his tentative breathing slowed to a halt. He’d never stopped to question himself about what had happened because there was no memory to question in the first place. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t remember. 

And maybe it wouldn’t have been so terrifying if it didn’t end there. He tried taking a step back, to figure out what he was even doing in Bastion City, and found nothing. He took another, tried to think back on where he was _before_ that, and found nothing. He did it again, and again, and again. There were flickers here and there, of an ocean, a lie, a letter, a handshake, of lying on the cold ground and listening to himself choke on his own blood. They were gone as soon as they came, and he was left standing with _nothing._

Finally, finally, he came across the first concrete memory he’d seen so far—a somewhat hazy image of packing his bags inside of a room that _had_ to be at home, and the soft goodbyes that inevitably followed. The relief that came from having something solid to look back on made him almost start crying on the spot. But it was only the slightest amount of reassurance, because even without looking any deeper he could almost _feel_ the missing pieces, the ominous empty spaces like a photograph with the faces burnt out. If he had left for a mission, because that’s what it _had_ to be—it couldn’t be anything else—where had he been sent to? Had he fucked it up, somehow? Was it even over? How had he ended up in Bastion City in the first place?

… What was this doctor’s name again?

Suddenly, Sklonda was shaking his shoulder urgently, calling his name out in panic as he was jostled back to reality. He didn’t have enough time to hide the look of genuine terror on his face. He didn’t know if he would have been able to hide it at all. 

Sklonda looked at him, and with a sinking heart he realized that she _knew._ Pok watched as she swallowed hard, hand trembling slightly on his shoulder. “Pok, it’s okay if you don’t remember.”

“No,” He said it a little too quickly, a little too frantically, as if saying it aloud would somehow make it more real. “No, I- I just need a minute, I know I’ve got it. I promise I’ve got it somewhere.”

The stab of pain in his head as he struggled to remember said otherwise.

* * *

Things didn’t get much better.

The days passed by with agonizing slowness, only trackable by the light that filtered in from the window on the wall. Pok was already starting to lose track of time. He’d been reassured several times that he’d only been in here for five days, but it felt like it could have been weeks, months even. At one point (was it the third day or the fourth?), he’d gotten a slight change of scenery when they’d moved him to a more standard unit of the hospital once it was clear he wasn’t actually going to die, and even that small novelty had worn off fast. 

Sklonda barely left his side, and when she did it was never for more than half an hour at a time. It hurt to see her so worried, but honestly her being there was really the only reason why he hadn’t lost his mind yet—between filling in and cross-referencing memories, to reading off a case file about some stupid bar fight downtown to get him to laugh, to giving him that stubborn look of _we_ will _get through this_ regardless of how genuinely exhausted the both of them were. Pok would have been lying if he said he hadn’t teared up a couple times from just how fucking _lucky_ he was to have her around, that she’d dropped literally everything just so she could be there when he woke up in the hospital for the first time. It was the reason he kept forcing himself up in the morning, the reason he kept trying his hardest to stay tough and optimistic in front of her.

The same could not be said for his mind.

It had been a slow, painful realization, one that started with small things—forgetting the names of the passing nurses and doctors from time to time, being unable to remember a conversation he’d had with Sklonda just fifteen minutes prior when he was normally so sharp when it came to details. He had initially brushed it off as being tired from recovering, but the consequences got harder and harder to ignore. Sometimes he would wake up without knowing what day it was, or how long he’d been in here. Sometimes he would wake up, and for a terrifying moment, not recognize the room he was in. And if he thought _that_ was bad, the past was an entirely different story altogether. He remembered the basics clearly, of course (his family, his career, stuff along those lines) but everything else was in bits and pieces, like shards of broken glass that left his hands bleeding whenever he tried to put them back together. Pok could remember loving Sklonda, falling absolutely head-over-heels for her, but not how they actually met. He could remember watching Riz grow up, in a vague, distant sort of way, but not his actual birthday. He could remember countless escapades in Fallinel, in the Red Wastes, in the Baronies, but he had _no fucking clue_ what he’d even been doing there in the first place. 

And the migraines made everything so much harder. Pok liked to think he was pretty tolerant to pain, and the potions he’d been taking periodically were at least actually _healing_ the lacerations in his side, but he’d never felt anything even _remotely_ close to how much the throbbing, burning headaches truly hurt. One moment, it would fade to a dull, background ache, and the next it would explode into a bright stab of pain that left him on the verge of passing out. And that wasn’t even considering having to get used to only being able to see out of one side, to only ever being able to track one half of the room. He didn’t want to admit it, but the loss of control terrified him. _Everything_ about this terrified him.

But Pok kept his voice confident, and his face lively, because the last thing he wanted right now was to make it seem like he couldn’t bounce back from this. If there was anything he was still good at, it was lying.

Day four brought a little reprieve from the agonizingly slow passage of time inside the hospital. In the morning, when he could finally sit up properly without feeling like he’d taken a bat to the chest, he’d started thinking— _really_ thinking—about how they were going to explain this away to Riz. The “business trip” story only worked when you weren’t coming home with a bite wound in your head. Eventually, he’d turned to Sklonda and asked _okay, so just how much does Riz know?_ The expression she’d given him was one he was quickly starting to recognize as the _you’ve asked me this before but I’m not going to tell you that to save your dignity_ look, but regardless she’d answered with “I kept the details pretty vague. I didn’t know how bad things would be when I got here, so…” She trailed off, momentarily downcast again. “He knows you got hurt, and that I had to leave to check on you. That’s pretty much it.” 

Pok thought about that for a while. Being in the hospital was an ordeal and a half for everyone involved, but he couldn’t imagine what it was like for Riz right now, miles away and with only bits and pieces of the story. “... Do you think we should call him sometime today?” He posed it as a suggestion, an inquiry, and it took everything he had to keep his voice from wavering. _God_ , he missed Riz. Fucked-up memory or not, he could tell it had been all too long since he’d talked to him last. 

Sklonda had smiled despite the lines of exhaustion on her face that seemed to only get deeper with each passing day. “Yeah. I think he’d like that.” 

And then what must have been a while later Pok found himself holding a crystal—Sklonda’s, she’d just handed it to him—and suddenly every fun and cheery greeting he’d been preparing in his head was gone. Distantly, he could hear a quiet, familiar “Hello?” on the other end of the line. For a moment, when he heard that voice, he wasn’t stuck in a hospital bed with healing ribs and bandages covering half his face. For a moment, he could almost imagine himself walking back into their apartment, arms open wide to catch Riz in a hug, like he _should_ have been able to.

When he finally spoke, it was tearful. “... Hey, kiddo.”

He heard Riz gasp a little on the other side, quickly followed by a “ _Dad!”_ Followed by “Are you okay? What happened? Are you coming home soon? Is mom acting just as worried as she does when I get sick? Hey, do you want to say hi to Penny too? I can get Penny-“

“Slow down a little, buddy, slow down,” The rapid-fire questions (not that he wouldn’t have expected anything else) were bringing his headache back, but Pok couldn’t have cared less as he felt a genuine grin coming on. “God, I’m so glad to be able to talk to you. How have _you_ been doing?” 

“Me? I was good, but I’m doing even better now!” Fuck, Pok was _definitely_ going to start tearing up at some point in this conversation. “What about you? Mom told me you were getting better.”

Pok paused for a moment. “Yeah- Yeah, I’m feeling a little better. Got a lot of cuts and bruises, that’s for sure, but nothing I can’t handle.” As if in direct protest, he felt his remaining stitches sting angrily as he sat up a little taller. 

He could _hear_ how Riz began to relax at his words. “Okay, I’m glad,” And then, with a bit of that earlier excitement, “I’ve been staying with the Luckstones, so you don’t have to worry about me—they’re really cool! Did you know that they have two whole trees in their backyard, and that we’ve been playing this board game every night after dinner that’s super fun, and that Penny’s mom has this _giant crossbow_ on their wall-“

Riz went on like that for a full five minutes, telling story after story about the fun little adventures he’d been having in their absence. For the most part, Pok was quiet, partially because of the growing headache pulsing behind his eye but also because listening to Riz talk about how Penny was letting him borrow a coloring book was genuinely the most uplifting thing he’d heard in days. 

Suddenly, Riz got a little serious again, his voice dropping to a whisper as if he was letting him in on a huge secret. “I don’t know if I was supposed to tell you this,” Pok could almost _see_ the way Riz was undoubtedly looking from left to right to make sure it was safe to talk. “But mom put me on a _special_ mission. I’m supposed to keep things under control in Elmville while you guys aren’t here, and I think… I think I’ve been doing a pretty good job. I mean… You’ve been getting better, right?” The note of hopefulness he heard over the line was absolutely crushing. “It’s- It’s not much, but I think- I think maybe you’d be proud-“

Pok finally cracked. For all his years of dodging death, at that moment he’d never been so grateful to have another chance to talk to his son.

“Riz, listen to me,” Pok felt his claws scrape against Sklonda’s crystal as his hand shook slightly. “I’ve always been proud of you, okay? There was never a moment that I wasn’t proud of you,” He had to pause so that his sniffle wouldn’t carry over to the other end. “I love you _so_ much, kiddo. I can’t wait to see you again.” 

And then Riz was quiet, and Pok was briefly worried he’d gotten a little too intense, until he heard him shyly speak up again with a simple “... Thanks, dad. Me too,” that held more meaning than he could have ever possibly described. 

He glanced over at Sklonda, who was watching their conversation with a soft smile on her face, and Pok gave her a sly grin. “And don’t worry—I won’t tell mom that you told me. It can be our secret.”

They went on like that for a while, and Pok felt lighter than he’d ever been since stepping foot in this hospital. Just hearing Riz’s eager voice was enough to cheer him up despite the cracked ribs and the missing eye and the burning headache. He would have to call him again tomorrow—maybe Pok wouldn’t have anything new to share, but he knew he’d love to hear whatever fun new adventure Riz had been on. 

(Later, when Sklonda asked him about what Riz had told him over the crystal, Pok couldn’t remember a single word he’d said.)

* * *

On the fifth day, Pok started to seriously worry about the future.

For the most part, he’d been trying to keep the frankly terrifying implications of his injuries contained to the present, to take it one day at a time (and that wasn’t even _considering_ the other factors, such as how the hell they were going to pay for any of this). The broken ribs and claw marks would heal, eventually—that’s what healing magic was for. The fact that he was essentially blind and deaf on one side now was a major blow to his observation skills and good looks, but there were workarounds available for that. The thing about physical injuries was that they were _predictable_. It made the prospect of getting hurt much less scary when you knew how to handle it, when you already knew what the pain would feel like.

There was no predictability to brain injury.

Sometimes, Pok felt completely fine. He would get up, mind clear as day, let Sklonda sleep in for a little longer while she was still half curled-up by his bedside (He could count the number of times he could remember seeing her rest this week on one hand), get into a _riveting_ debate with a nurse about what type of hospital food was the most stale, and think about just how _good_ it was going to feel to get out of here. The agency wouldn’t throw him back into the ring so quickly after something like this. He could spend some time out with his family for once, because god knows they were gonna need it. 

And then sometimes, his headaches left him shivering in pain with the lights turned off to keep it from getting any worse. Sometimes, he’d be in the middle of a conversation with Sklonda and just see the way her face _fell_ when he suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d told him not fifteen seconds ago. Sometimes, he would lie awake in the dead of night afraid to shut his eye, because he was scared that one day he would wake up unable to recognize Sklonda, or Riz, or _anybody_.

Injuries were the beginning of a secret agent’s career. Brain trauma was the kind of thing that ended it. Pok would have had to be a fool not to have realized that by now. 

So, of course, on the fifth day spent in the hospital, the Solisian government sent a couple agents to interrogate him that afternoon.

Like just about anything he could remember when it came to the Solisian secret service, it was a complete surprise. Pok had barely had time to realize what was going on before one of the doctors ( _Dr. Starling. Dr. Starling. How many times had Sklonda had to remind him by now?)_ poked her head in and said “You’ve got a couple visitors. Don’t worry, we cleared them,” and even _less_ time to prepare himself for the three agents that walked in next—a half-elf, a human, and a kobold all dressed in the same standard blazer. 

“Ayy, Gukgak!” The kobold was the first to approach him, and the only one of the three that looked even remotely familiar. He stuck out an eager hand to shake. “We were both assigned to Kalimbringer a couple years back, remember? Tex Kaksby, pleasure to see you again—wish it was under better circumstances!” The other two gave him withering looks of disapproval as he threw back his head for a cackling laugh. 

“Hey, Kaksby,” Pok kept his smile easy and charismatic, despite the fact that his brain was working overtime trying to remember what the hell could have happened in Kalimbringer. “Don’t sweat it too hard. I’m sure I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”

Tex didn’t get a chance to respond before one of the other agents, the human, cut in. “Mr. Gukgak, we were sent here by the agency to discuss confidential information with you after being informed of your… Condition,” She hesitated for a moment, looking him up and down and clearly suppressing a flinch at just how undoubtedly fucked up he looked. Then, she turned her gaze over to Sklonda, who had been silently staring at the agents warily the entire time. “Which means we cannot have anyone else here in the room while we talk this over.” 

Sklonda slowly stood up, but didn’t move an inch further, her tail lashing in defiance. Finally, she broke eye contact with the agent to look over at him instead. “Pok, I can-“

“It’s fine, hon,” Pok said quickly, reassuringly, as he felt the tension in the room growing. “They’re just some of the guys. This is nothing I can’t handle.” His smile became slightly more real as he watched her reluctantly relax. 

She talked with the three agents for another minute or two, mostly just passing around identification and Sklonda subtly trying to figure out if, by being direct family, she could work her way into staying in the room. Unsurprisingly, the agents wouldn’t yield, and eventually she admitted defeat by stepping back into the doorway. She gave Pok one last look of barely concealed worry before saying “... I’ll be around if you need me, alright?” 

Pok gave her a mock-salute as she slipped out the door, and he could have sworn he saw a little smile flicker across her face as she left—but he didn’t have the time to dwell on it, because the moment she was gone the human agent cleared her throat and extended a hand to shake as well, her grip about a hundred times more formal than Tex’s had been. “I’m Lola,” She said flatly, before gesturing at the half-elf who’d been standing out-of-sight on Pok’s bad side. “That’s Joel.” 

Joel hadn’t said a single word since he’d stepped in the door, not even when Sklonda had started questioning them, and he gave Pok a nod of quiet affirmation that he could just barely see out of the corner of his eye. 

“Well, uh, nice to see you all. If I’d known I was getting visitors, I would have put on something a little nicer,” Pok chuckled, but the air was so thick with tension that the joke almost made the situation worse. “Sorry, sorry. What did you come to ask me about?”

The three of them glanced at each other, and even Tex looked grim. Finally, Lola spoke up again with “Let’s not waste time. The department is looking into your attack as we speak. Despite the ongoing investigation, no compelling suspects have been identified. So far, we don’t know if the attacker was just a common thug, or was coordinating a hit based on your identity,” Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “And if the medical reports we’ve been getting from here are correct, you don’t either.”

Pok was starting to feel uneasy. He’d gone over his memories—or lack thereof—from the incident with Sklonda literally more times than he could remember. He’d sat through as many questions from investigators that his battered body could handle at the time. Although he knew Sklonda was taking on the case personally, and was eager to share any leads she’d ferreted out of Bastion City precinct detectives, for the most part she’d stopped asking him questions about what had happened. It was understandable, but it didn’t change the fact that he felt like shit for being unable to help in his _own assault case_. 

“Look, I’m not hiding anything about the incident,” He said carefully under Lola’s suspicious gaze. “I don’t know anything more than you do.” 

“That’s not the only thing,” Lola kept going as if he hadn’t spoken up at all. “Your injury is a potential security threat. We need to ensure that your knowledge of state secrets hasn’t been compromised by…” She trailed off, waving a hand at the bandages that were still wrapped tight around the left side of Pok’s face. “You know what I mean.” 

Something must have slipped in his expression—christ, getting bit in the head really did fuck up your poker face—because Tex stopped to smile reassuringly at him. “We’re just gonna ask you questions about some past missions. Should be easy stuff.” 

“Yeah. Easy,” Pok repeated back, trying to slow the growing dread deep in his stomach. Maybe, just maybe, he reasoned, this was what he needed—a push from people who knew what they were talking about (no offense to Sklonda, but there were reasons why he hadn’t exactly been keen to spill all the gruesome details of his missions to her). Maybe this would be a good thing. Maybe he wouldn’t end up being useless to the case after all.

They started questioning him, and those hopes immediately vanished.

Lola pulled out the first file. It was an older one, from well over a decade ago, and as she started reading something off about an ancient tower in Fallinel and artifact smuggling, Pok could already feel his heart sinking even before he went to scour his memory. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come up with anything except for brief flashes of leaning against ruined stone walls, the sound of gunfire ricocheting in the distance—which, to be honest, might not have even been from the right mission in the first place, because how was he supposed to know for sure? _No, no- You said Fallinel, right? It’s not ringing a bell for me, do you mind repeating that?_ He’d watched as Lola and Tex glanced at each other briefly, as Joel wrote something down in an expensive-looking notebook. They went over the case again, and still nothing changed. The facts were right in front of him, and deep down he _knew_ this was something he’d been a part of, but it all felt so foreign. The memories just weren’t there.

And then it happened again. And again. And again. 

A warlord’s army in the Red Wastes, eight years ago. A kidnapping plot in the Mountains of Chaos, six years ago. A chase after stolen documents in the Baronies, three years ago. Over and over, they walked him through mission after mission, told him tale after tale of his own notoriety, and every single time his responses were spoken in tatters. He was lucky if he could even remember what the goal of the mission had been in the first place without any help, let _alone_ the details of what exactly had transpired during it. And after every uneasy _give me a moment, I’m sure I’ve got it this time,_ that got shakier and shakier as time went on, Pok watched as the three agent’s faces quietly became more disappointed with every wrong answer.

Once, he thought he’d had something. It hadn’t even been anything that significant, just an expedition in some old temple in the Swamps of Ruin, but he’d just about lost his mind in relief anyway. He’d launched into an excited explanation and got about halfway through before Tex had awkwardly cut him off with a _well, I don’t think that’s the one we’re going over right now, but I guess we could skip ahead if you want,_ followed by the flipping of pages and the incessant scribble of a pen on paper. After that, he couldn’t find it in him to stay hopeful. The pitying look that Tex had given him had crushed any chance of that.

All the while, his headache began coming back. 

Pok started to lose track of time. How much light had been filtering in through the window at the beginning of this whole ordeal? Had three hours passed or just twenty minutes? Remembering everything he’d been told was like trying to hold onto a stack of papers in a thunderstorm—eventually they would scatter, and by the time you tracked them down again the contents were already ruined by the rain. Speaking of contents, he realized with a jolt, what the hell was he doing spilling all these highly confidential details? It seemed like the exact kind of trick someone would do to get information out of him, maybe this entire thing was just an elaborate plot, and- Holy _shit_ _,_ he recognized that ripple of magic, were they casting a _spell_ on him right now?

Suddenly, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, cutting through the cluttered, frantic paranoia. “To answer your question, Mr. Gukgak, we’ve been casting a low-level detect thoughts to assist in the questioning,” Joel’s quiet voice was calm and soothing and just barely audible from his seat over on Pok‘s bad side. “We told you this upfront when we started, and you consented. We would not have continued had you said otherwise.”

The words snapped him back to reality, that he was sitting in a hospital bed reading the files from missions he couldn’t remember completing. Pok just nodded, trying not to let the sting of the realization show too much, and in doing so a spike of pain from behind his eye made him wince. God, his head fucking _hurt._ After spending five days with what was essentially an on-again off-again migraine, it should have seemed obvious that a _thought reading_ spell would have only made it worse, but if this interrogation was any indication he clearly didn’t know much of _anything_ anymore. 

Somehow, the last file finally came, being dated from this August. It was only then that Pok went silent. There was nothing left for him to say that he hadn’t already said a hundred times before. He hardly even bothered skimming the details before looking back up into the agent’s saddened faces, too tired to hide the defeat he knew was showing plainly in his own expression. “I don’t remember anything. I’m sorry.” 

Pok took slight comfort in the fact that they still respected him enough not to lie and say it was fine. 

Slowly, quietly, they started to pack up. Lola said something about reporting back to the department later, about getting in contact to further discuss what came next once he was out of the hospital. Tex awkwardly patted him on the shoulder and wished him a fast recovery. Joel walked to the other side of the bed so he could be in full view for the first time since coming through that door. He spoke nothing more, but his somber look said it all. 

And then they were gone. 

He hadn’t been alone like this since waking up in the hospital. Sklonda had stayed at his side almost twenty-four seven—and if she wasn’t there, then one of the medical staff would poke in periodically to check on him. The room had never gone completely silent either, always humming with the background noise of arcanotech machines, the flipping of Sklonda’s case files, or the rattle and rustle of the hallway outside.

Now, though, the only thing he could hear was the incessant pounding in his own head, sharp and burning and endlessly painful. _The lights are far too bright,_ Pok noted dully, because if he didn’t think about solving something right now he would lose his mind. _They’ve been too bright this entire time. I think I might end up needing sunglasses when I get out of here._ He hadn’t mentioned it while the agents were there, but now he almost wished he had—it would have saved him a lot of pain, and there clearly hadn’t been any point to making it seem like he still had control over the situation, over himself, over any of this at all. 

He’d spent over a decade of his life in the Solisian secret service, and it had never been easy. He didn’t have to remember the specifics to know just how hard he must have worked to get ahead, to be taken seriously, to come out on top every time someone had doubted his abilities. And perhaps he’d gotten a little too used to his own competence. Perhaps he’d momentarily forgotten that he was still just a goblin with nothing but a gun and his wits surrounded by people twice his size and strength. Perhaps he’d finally slipped from the top of the tower he’d spent so long building, and this was what it felt like to fall. 

It was too late to catch himself. There was no way back up. 

Pok was alone, and he was so grateful that nobody was there to see the moment he started letting himself cry. Under the weight of the headache ringing in his one good ear, the sound of his occasional sniffles was comparatively quiet, undisturbing. It had been a long, hard week, and he rationalized that he would have needed to let it out sometime anyway. Better to do it alone and not worry anybody. They didn’t need another problem on their shoulders. 

He’d been told over and over again by the doctors how lucky he was not to have suffered more lasting damage, how much of a miracle it was that his injuries hadn’t been worse. In the wake of letting people down once more, he couldn’t have felt less so.

When Sklonda finally returned, Pok had had enough time to dry his tears and re-compose himself. He almost immediately relaxed upon seeing her walk through the doorway (and judging by the way her perpetually tired expression eased when she caught sight of him made it clear she felt the same). In her hand was a crinkled paper bag, and when Sklonda noticed his curious stare she pulled out one of those little to-go bowls of soup and handed it to him. “I stopped by the cafeteria on the way back. They had you on IVs for so fucking long, I figured you could go for something real by now.” 

Despite everything, Pok felt a smile tug at his face. “Hey, don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it,” He briefly gestured to the empty space where the IV stand had used to be up until that morning, when the doctors had finally decided that they didn’t need to force anti-exhaustion meds into his system anymore to keep him going. Nevertheless, he immediately tore the lid off and started wolfing down the bowl of soup as soon as Sklonda handed a spoon over. He’d had no idea just how hungry he was until he’d been holding something actually edible in his hands. 

Meanwhile, Sklonda had taken her usual seat in the plastic chair by his bedside, idly taking bites every now and then from the sandwich she’d gotten for herself, which was… Decidedly out of character, to say the least. Occasionally Pok would try to say something to her in between gulping down spoonfuls of soup _(_ _Where did you find this, hon? The stuff they keep bringing me tastes like cardboard!)_ , but her responses remained mostly one-note and quiet. 

Eventually, when Pok had long since finished his bowl, Sklonda took a long, deep breath. She looked down at the floor, obviously hesitant, and with a sinking heart he realized he had a pretty good idea of what she was about to say. 

“... The agents talked to me before they left.” 

The room got a little colder. Pok waited for her to go on, already imagining that same look of disappointment from earlier on Sklonda’s face. Immediately, he wished he hadn’t. He’d been trying so hard the past five days to stay optimistic, and the only reason he hadn’t snapped by now was because he didn’t want to worry her any further. 

“There’s good news,” Sklonda gave him a reassuring half-smile, but the gesture didn’t meet her eyes. “Government’s paying for most of the medical bills. It’s probably just to keep a lawsuit off their backs—and it’s not like we even have the grounds to sue, anyway—but hey, I’m not gonna complain.” 

It _was_ good news. The inevitably climbing hospital bill was something Pok had done his best not to think about too much over the past five days in fear of giving himself another violent migraine. You would be surprised at the kind of health insurance being a secret agent snagged you. 

The relief didn’t last long, though. Pok nodded slowly, far too tired at this point to waste time beating around the bush. When he did speak, his voice wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t playful anymore either. “I know that’s not all they said.” 

Sklonda’s ears drooped a little as she let out a long sigh. It struck Pok that, regardless of his clearly unreliable memory, this was the first time he could remember seeing her without some sort of file or folder on her lap. She’d been working on-and-off since she’d arrived here, a lot of which pertaining to Pok’s own case, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt over being stuck in this hospital bed with fucked up ribs and an even more fucked up head. 

“I’m sorry, honey. I thought you would’ve wanted to hear something good for once,” She said apologetically, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze. “It’s been a bad fucking week for all of us, but- God, you’ve been through so much shit. I can’t even imagine how awful this is for you.” There was a pause as she took a deep breath, and he could tell by the look on her face that she was trying to steel herself for what was coming next. Finally, Sklonda managed a quiet “... The agents told me about what happened during the questioning. They said to just worry about recovering right now. They’re… They’re letting you come home.” 

She didn’t have to elaborate for the two of them to understand it would probably be for the last time.

There were a lot of things that Pok wanted to say. Something reassuring, something questioning, something angry—he wanted to tell her just how much it fucking hurt to sit here while everything he’d worked for so long to build came crashing down. He wanted _her_ to tell him just how much it hurt to see it happen. He wanted to remember what he would’ve said to cheer her up whenever she felt down. He wanted to remember anything useful at all. 

What came out instead was a tearful apology. “Sklonda, I… I’m sorry. What happened during the questioning, it- it was my fault, I couldn’t-“ 

The fronts that they had barely been keeping intact shattered. Sklonda looked absolutely _devastated_ _,_ tears pooling in her tired eyes, and the sight left Pok feeling so, _so_ much worse than he’d had only moments before—and yet he had no more optimistic, reassuring words left to give. For a moment all he could do was just sit there helplessly, until Sklonda frantically wiped the tears out of her eyes and pulled him into a crushing hug.

“ _Please_ don’t say that, Pok. Please don’t _ever_ fucking say that,” Her words were slightly muffled from the way she’d buried her head into his shoulder, but at least she’d had the foresight to do it on the side Pok could still hear out of. “If any of this is _anyone’s_ fault, it’s the bastard who landed you in here. So just- We’re going to figure this out together, okay? We’re not giving up,” Sklonda eased out of the embrace to instead rest a hand on the side of Pok’s face, to wipe away tears he hadn’t even realized were starting to fall again. “We’re _Gukgaks,_ alright? We don’t give up.” 

Maybe he was starting to lose faith in himself, but she never had.

Pok dropped every damn front he’d been trying so desperately to hold onto since waking up in this hospital and finally just let himself start sobbing in front of her. As he buried his face back into her shoulder, it took everything he had not to rue the past version of himself that hadn’t been fast enough, clever enough, good enough to stop him from losing so much in so little time. 

* * *

The next time he woke up, it was dark, and he knew he wasn’t alone.

At first, this didn’t register as anything concerning. Pok had grown used to the soft weight of Sklonda half-curled over the side of the hospital bed, plastic chair pulled in close, a memory cemented in by the long nights spent lying awake. It was only when his blurry eyesight shifted over to the bright yellow sticky note that sat on the empty chair that he belatedly remembered—Sklonda wasn’t here tonight. 

Ever since Pok had gotten moved out of intensive care, a change he couldn’t have been more happy to see, the staff had become less and less lenient to Sklonda’s glaringly stubborn overnight stays. That afternoon, they’d finally told her that she really couldn’t keep staying here like this, and despite a _lot_ of hesitance (especially after today’s decidedly taxing events, even though he’d calmed down considerably since then) she’d eventually agreed—although the deciding factor had most definitely been Pok’s weakly comforting words of _go get some rest, honey. I can handle a night by myself_. 

As soon as the realization sank in, he instinctively froze. He couldn’t see the whole room from this angle, and especially not with just one eye, but he didn’t have to have a full view to know that something was very, very wrong. Something in the air had changed. The only thing keeping Pok from bolting upright was the restraint built into his bones from years and years of training that even a bite to the head couldn’t break. 

In the corner by the doorway, something in the shadows moved. 

Pok started holding his breath, lingering ache in his chest be damned. He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t run. Briefly, he wondered if this was the creature who’d done this to him in the harbor district, and this was just them finishing the job—because they _must_ have known he’d survived. Maybe, if he put aside his already very broken pride and raised the alarm, there’d be enough time for someone to get here before they tore his head off for real this time-

Out of the shadows stepped a figure black as night, illuminated only by the light of the moon coming in from the window. It was hardly taller than him, with smooth fur and pointed ears, and it paused by the end of the bed to lean against the plastic railing. The light shifted to reflect on gleaming yellow eyes, and Pok was staring into the piercing gaze of a tabaxi.

She smiled warmly at him. “Hey there, pal. How’s the head feeling?” 

At first, he was very, very confused. Then, he felt stone cold dread settle into his stomach. Pok knew her. He _had_ to know her. He knew that face and he knew those eyes and he knew that voice but no matter how much he struggled he couldn’t find name nor memory. And now, he didn’t have the luxury of having someone there to walk through the missing pieces with, because he needed to recognize her and he needed to do it _now_ _._

The tabaxi cocked her head curiously, her friendly demeanor not diminished in the slightest by his continued silence. “What, did I startle you? I mean, I heard it was bad, but I didn’t think it was _this_ bad,” She waved a paw in front of his face to test for a reaction. “You really do look like shit. The bandage isn’t doing you any favors, buddy.” 

Finally, finally, something clicked. For a frustratingly fleeting moment, he could remember a crowded ballroom and the gentle weight of a glass in his hand and the flash of a camera and the brush of silky fur as he put his arm around this tabaxi’s shoulders. It was gone as soon as it came, but in it’s briefness it gave Pok exactly what he’d been looking for—a lead. 

“By the way, you can drop the amnesiac act now. Just in case me being here didn’t make that clear,” She was still talking, but her shining eyes didn't leave him for a moment. “I know you’re being cautious, and that’s smart! It really is. But you don’t have to worry—I’m just here to talk. You’ve been itching to chat with someone who’s really on your level, I get it, and all I need is-“ 

“I- I know you,” It was supposed to sound cool and collected, but Pok’s voice was rough from being woken up so suddenly and it came out as a questioning croak instead— _far_ too questioning. He felt his heart sink as the only bit of leverage he’d had left slipped out of his fingers and shattered on the linoleum floor below. 

Her expression didn’t change much at first, just the slight narrowing of her eyes as she stared him down even more intensely than before. And then there it was—a momentary flicker of genuine surprise in her face that happened so quickly he almost thought he’d imagined it. The movement was small, but he felt uneasy regardless. Something was very wrong. 

The tabaxi recovered quickly, though, like the slip-up had never even happened. “Oh, wow,” She said slowly, fascinatedly. “So you were telling the truth. You _actually_ don’t remember me.” 

Pok stayed silent, because he knew that anything else he tried to say would just be more proof to her point. He tried to rationalize things, that if she had _really_ wanted to hurt him she would have done it already, and yet there was something so off about the way she acted. But no matter how hard he searched his fragmented memory, he couldn’t hold onto anything with her in it long enough to figure out what was going on. 

They stared at each other in silence for a long, long time (was it ten seconds or ten minutes?) until eventually the tabaxi sighed a little and took an all-too-casual seat on the edge of the bed, flicking her tail idly. “Okay, now you’re just being stubborn. Gonna be honest, this whole ‘cold shoulder’ thing does _not_ suit you.” There was something different in the way she was looking at him, sly and shrewd and so painfully familiar. “You know, Pok, it actually kind of hurts that you don’t remember me—we were partners, doesn’t that mean something to you? Was I just not important enough to have locked down in that clever little head of yours, or was it because you’ve had so many of them at this point that you’ve started losing track?”

Before he could even begin to break down what the _fuck_ she meant by that, a sudden spike of pain behind his eye had him wincing despite the immense amount of restraint he’d placed on himself. Of course the headache had to come back now, when Pok needed just about every scrap of coherency he could get. Of course it would. 

“... What are you even _doing_ here?” Pok managed to force out through gritted teeth, trying not to let himself lose focus. “If you wanted to talk to me, you could’ve- You didn’t have to do it at _two in the morning_ _._ ” 

She actually chuckled that time, if just for a moment. “Aw, come on buddy. I know you’re smarter than this. That bite to the head made you forgetful, not stupid,” And before he could shoot back with a questioning retort, she reached forward to pat him on the wrist, her claws flashing in the dim light. “But hey, I feel bad seeing you all confused and cooped up in here, so let’s just make this easy on both of us, okay?” 

Her entire demeanor suddenly changed as she mockingly extended a paw, like she was asking for an introductory handshake. “ _Hi_ , I’m Kalina, nice to see you again. And who’s this handsome stranger we have over here?”

And then, as Pok desperately sifted deep in his migraine-addled brain for any mention of this bizarrely sociable tabaxi woman who clearly knew him way too well, he _did_ find something. Surprisingly, it was a recent memory—during the questioning earlier that day, from the one case he’d been able to remember to any significant degree (he tried not to think about how almost all of the other missions they’d discussed had completely vanished from his mind by now). Now that he was looking at her face, the details were starting to come back. Blurry, hesitant images of standing next to a tabaxi in an ancient ruin slowly filled his head, and by now Pok knew that they would disappear as soon as he chased them. There was no time to keep looking. 

So he sat up a little straighter, a little taller, and refused to let her know that he didn’t know. “Kalina. It’s been a while.” 

Kalina smiled wider, fangs glinting in the dark. “I knew you’d come around.” 

But he did know that something was wrong. If the fact that she’d dropped in at two in the morning to “talk” wasn’t suspicious enough, the almost condescending way she spoke had him on-guard. His body knew something his brain didn’t anymore—Pok could tell by the way he kept tensing whenever she moved too suddenly, by the way he kept shuddering under her glowing yellow eyes. He _couldn’t_ lose focus now, headache be damned. 

Pok steeled himself, gritting his teeth even harder to distract from the burning pain in his head that was only getting worse. “You didn’t answer my question,” He said slowly, deliberately, in an attempt to get any control over the conversation that he could (although he highly doubted that a man under four feet tall in a hospital bed would have any commanding presence in the first place. Not like he couldn’t try, though). 

And yet Kalina just shrugged, completely unfazed. “What, I can’t come visit an old friend in his time of need? You’re very predictable, though. Clues first, am I right?” She grinned at her own joke. “But this isn’t about me, Pok, I wouldn’t want to steal your spotlight. This is all about _you_ _._ ” 

Before Pok could fire back with something marginally clever along the lines of _honestly, all I want is to get_ out _of the spotlight right now,_ Kalina’s ears flattened and her expression shifted in what was probably the closest thing to negativity he could remember seeing from her. “What _happened_ _,_ Pok? I know we’ve made some enemies, but man—someone must have _really_ had it out for you.” Her voice was filled with casual curiosity, like she was asking him what book he was reading instead of why he was in the hospital after being mauled half to death. 

“Well,” He tapped the bandages wrapped across his face despite the fact that even touching them hurt. “I’d say _what happened_ is pretty obvious.” Pok was careful not to give away too much detail—or give away the fact that he _didn’t_ know too much detail—a sentiment he repeated over and over in his head in fear of forgetting it mid-sentence. “I got fucked over, that’s what.”

But then her questions only got more pointed and pointed—going from _how long have you been in here? Surely it’s been hard being all cooped up,_ to _there has to be an investigation going on. Have they found anything yet? Any suspects? Tell me, Pok, would taking a bite to the head really fuck with your memory that much?_ To anyone else it might have just come off as very brutally honest concern, if it hadn't been for the fact that Pok was breaking out in cold sweat underneath the calm demeanor he was struggling to maintain. 

He didn’t know enough. There were too many pieces gone for him to even imagine what the full picture might be. She was sitting there, and she was talking to him like she knew him well— _too well,_ he thought, _fuck, I wish I remembered why_ —and she must have wanted something, because why else would she be sitting here asking these questions? 

Information. It had to be information. Pok realized with a sudden jolt that this felt all too much like the interrogation from earlier, and as soon as the thought had entered his mind he started feeling sick. His headache had been getting progressively worse the longer he’d tried to hold this conversation, but now the pain _spiked_ and for a horrible, horrible moment, his vision swam to the point where he couldn’t even see Kalina anymore. 

Pok was beginning to panic. He’d had bad migraines before—or, at least he could remember being _told_ that he’d had them—but he couldn’t have one now or it was _over_ , and his chance to find anything out would be gone. He should be strong enough to handle this. If he couldn’t keep a level head- Fuck, _fuck,_ what had his response to Kalina’s last question been? What had he been about to ask her? How long had she been staring at him with that smile on her face? Why did he have the feeling that he was supposed to be remembering something important right now?

He blinked, and Kalina had stopped talking. Maybe she’d been quiet for a while. Then, finally, she said “Buddy, you don’t look so good.” 

When he breathed in to speak, the movement made his entire body rattle with effort. “I- I’m fine.” 

“You keep saying that, but I don’t think you know what it really means,” Something had changed in Kalina’s expression. The playfulness was gone. “And you’re a pretty good liar, Pok. I bet you’ve said it a lot the past few days—to Sklonda, to the doctors, hey, maybe even to Riz. Can’t imagine what it’s gonna be like for the poor kid to see you like this.” She shook her head sadly. 

“Here’s the thing, though. You’ve been pretty stubborn this whole time, so I’m just going to be direct now. They don’t know you’re lying because they don’t know _you_ , at least not like I do. But you should feel lucky, Pok,” The way she looked at him right then, all pitying smile and twistedly sympathetic gaze, made him want to claw his remaining eye out just to stop seeing it. “Now, I think you’re going to have a _lot_ of time off for them to get to know the real you.”

She stood up off the bed as the cold, hard realization started to sink in. Kalina looked back at him one last time. “Hey. I’m gonna leave you alone, pal. You look like you could use a breather. Maybe I’ll even write you a cute little note to let you know I’m gone,” Her expression was suddenly horribly smug, like she’d been holding it back the entire time and was just now dropping the act. “Oh, and Pok? _Get well soon,_ won’t you? I’d _hate_ to see you like this again _._ ” 

And then, for one crucial moment, everything became clear. The missing pieces, the lost memories—they had never been gone at all. They were standing right in front of him, because Kalina _knew_ _._ Kalina knew _everything_. There was no chance in the nine hells that she could stand there and say those things and not know. At that instant, he didn’t think he’d ever been so convinced of something in his life. 

So Pok, in one swift movement, vaulted himself out of bed and got to his feet.

Dimly, he was aware that this wasn’t something he should be doing alone, but he could worry about that later. He lied to people for a living, so what was one more to add to the pile? Instantly, the room began to spin, and through the ache and pain from a body that had barely moved in the past five days he heard himself shout “ _Kalina, wait!”_ that echoed in the cold, empty hallways. 

Standing up so quickly had brought a wave of nausea over him, had caused him to shiver ever so slightly as he struggled to keep his balance amidst the pounding in his head, but Pok didn’t care. He could handle this. If that interrogation had taught him anything, it was that he had handled this and more. The fact that he had lasted this long, accomplished this much, defied all the expectations that came from a goblin spy who should have died young—it had to mean something. This was his last chance to figure everything out, to solve the mystery, to prove that that bastard in the harbors hadn’t ruined everything-

He made it five steps. 

The pain in his head spiked again, harder than he thought was even possible, and he crumpled against the wall in a last-ditch effort not to collapse. He tried to spit out another angry, desperate shout, but the words refused to form. Even if they did, at this point his thoughts had become so scrambled by the pain that he didn’t know what he was shouting for anymore. 

For the first time since he’d first woken up in the hospital, he genuinely thought he was going to die. 

And then, through the panic, he felt a paw settle on his cheek, consoling and personal and the scariest thing he’d ever felt in his life. He heard the gentle, mocking words of _slow down, buddy—we wouldn’t want to have another little accident, would we?_ Desperate, frustrated, terrified, he whipped up to look into the eyes of-

Something in his brain snapped. 

When he woke up, he was lying on the cold linoleum floor. There was a ringing in his ear and a bright light shining in his eye. The inside of his mouth was filled with blood. Everything hurt. _Everything_ _fucking hurt_.

And most of all, he knew he failed. She was gone. 

* * *

For the first time in five days, Sklonda woke up in an actual bed. 

She supposed she probably should have seen this turn of events coming, but during the past week it was like the world outside of Sanctum Medical Center hadn’t existed (barring, of course, calling Riz and the case files she’d brought with her to work on during her “family emergency”). And maybe she would have started giving Pok some space earlier if not for just how _worried_ she was about him. 

Fuck, what was happening to Pok _terrified_ her. From the nasty-looking gashes striped across his face that she’d seen in the rare moments he’d had his bandages taken off, to the way he kept forgetting things she’d told him—sometimes in the middle of a conversation—to how the first time he’d cried in front of her since the incident was last afternoon, to how he was all but losing his job for things he couldn’t control. The worst part about all of this was that he kept trying to act calm about it, in that way he did when he was worried about something but didn’t want anyone else to know. Sklonda had seen it before, she could tell when he was lying, and eventually he had to crack. Not even Pok could keep that much bottled up forever. 

When the medical staff had finally pressured her into obeying the hospital’s visitation rules, she’d tried to rationalize it as being good for both of them. Pok was stressed and exhausted. Sklonda was stressed and exhausted. They could both use a night of not having to worry about _not_ being stressed in front of each other. 

And yet, at the same time she argued with herself that now was the time that Pok needed someone by his side the _most_ —in the midst of potentially (not potentially, probably) losing the career he’d worked so hard for, as he blamed himself for not being able to remember much after literally taking a _bite to the head._ She was ready to put up a fight so that he wouldn’t have to be alone, until he’d looked up at her with a weak smile and told her to go get some real rest that she’d wavered. 

(Which, technically, Sklonda hadn’t really followed, because the moment she left the hospital she started getting on call with the Bastion City precinct and arranging meetings to discuss the investigation. She was still hellbent on keeping her promise of finding whoever did this and somehow getting to tear their face off. Nobody fucked with the Gukgaks and got away with it)

But the nights spent half-curled up onto the side of Pok’s hospital bed must have really done a number on her, because the moment she’d laid down on the motel’s bed at one in the morning she hadn’t woken up until almost _nine_. Sklonda couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept in this late. And despite everything, for a decent couple minutes she’d enjoyed getting up and getting ready at a non-frantic pace, because hey—Pok wouldn’t want her to come in all panicked like she’d spent the whole night worrying.

Then she glanced at her crystal and saw a missed call from the hospital. 

It took a moment for her to recognize the number, but as soon as she did her heart _dropped._ Upon seeing they’d left her a message, it dropped even further. She hated the way she scrambled to pick up the crystal in instantaneous panic, but _fuck_ , would it not be just their luck for Pok to take a sudden turn for the worse on the _one night_ she wasn’t there? He’d been getting better—the potions were slowly but surely healing his physical injuries, he’d been up longer and longer each day, even his occasional memory lapses didn’t seem as frequent. The doctors had even started talking about what was coming next, about what to expect when they eventually discharged him from the hospital. He was supposed to be out of the woods. 

Sklonda played the message back, and the last hopes of it not being bad news vanished. 

_Hello Mrs. Gukgak, I know it’s very late, but there was an incident about thirty minutes ago that we needed to inform you of. Your husband had a seizure tonight, and although he’s stable now, we still wanted to let you know that…_

The receptionist (Amanda _again,_ what were the chances?) kept going on about the probable cause being stress and potential future treatment, but Sklonda was just barely listening through grabbing her bag and rushing out the door. She should never have left. God, what had she been _thinking?_ She’d given in so easily, too easily, and now Pok was hurt, _again_ , and-

She paused for a moment. A seizure. A seizure brought on by _stress_. If there was anything else the Solisian government was looking for to prove that Pok had been left too unstable by his injury to keep working, a seizure would be the metaphorical final nail in his coffin. 

Fuck, she needed to get there _now_.

The ten-minute drive back to the hospital passed by in a blur, and when Sklonda pulled into that familiar parking lot it was all too eerily reminiscent of that first day. Really, the only difference was that instead of stopping at the second floor she was climbing up to the fourth, and that at some point Dr. Starling came up to her (since when had she gotten so unobservant? Christ, this whole situation really was taking a toll on her) and started talking about prescribing anticonvulsants, a conversation that she could remember responding to but not what she actually said. It was sobering, scary even, just how quickly things had gone back to square one. She was hearing that damning diagnosis all over again. She never should have let her guard down.

For a little while she just stood there listening to Dr. Starling’s explanation of it all, the clinical and direct _we’re going to run more tests on him to determine if it’s an acute problem or not, but I’ll warn you, Mrs. Gukgak, that the development of seizure disorders after sustaining brain injuries is very common,_ ringing in her ears. Right now, Sklonda couldn’t have cared less about whether this could happen again or not—all she wanted to know was if Pok was doing okay, because he’d been through _so much shit_ in the past week and this might as well be the final straw. 

And then Dr. Starling was gone, off to reconvene with other professionals that knew far more about medicine than Sklonda ever would, and she was standing in the doorway of the hospital room that suddenly seemed so small. Pok was awake, thank _god_ , sitting up with his arms crossed and staring out the window (or he would be, if the blinds weren’t still shuttered). This time, there was no new grievous injury, except for the fresh bandage wrapped around his head that was stained slightly with blood. He didn’t notice her until she was already inside the room, and even then his movements were decidedly a little out of it. 

“Pok, I-“ She stopped at the side of the bed, suddenly worried that she would end up bothering him, until a look of pure relief came over his face that threw that worry out of the window. As gently as she could, Sklonda wrapped him in a hug and pulled him close. She’d already almost lost him once, but if he’d fallen wrong… If that new head wound had been any worse on his already unpredictable injuries…

It took him a moment to hug her back, but when he did it felt like he wouldn’t ever let go. Sklonda could feel the warm, quiet tears dripping onto her shoulder as he sat there and trembled. She didn’t mention it. Pok deserved to keep at least a little of his dignity. 

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I _should_ have been there,” Was what she said instead, that earlier panic she’d been trying not to let show spilling out regardless. Even then, it wouldn’t have done much good, because they’d been beaten down so hard by now that there was almost no point in trying to hide fears anymore. “God, Pok, I can’t- I can’t even imagine-“

“No, it’s okay,” Pok responded in a soft, pained voice as he winced just from speaking. “I’m okay. I’m okay, Sklonda,” She couldn’t tell by the waver in his words if he was trying to convince her or convince himself. The tears kept coming. “... Just- Just please don’t cry.” 

They cried on each other’s shoulders for the next two minutes. 

Finally, finally, Pok dislodged himself from their embrace, hastily wiping at his eye in an attempt to compose himself. There was a pause as the two of them tried and failed to get it together again, something that clearly neither of them had the energy for. 

Eventually, Sklonda took a deep breath and, because she knew she’d never rest until at least _trying_ to find this out, hesitantly asked “Pok, what… What _happened_ last night?” At the sight of the uncertain look that went over his face, she hastily added “You- You don’t have to answer that. I don’t need to know.”

Pok was quiet for a long, long time, and for a moment she was starting to think he’d forgotten the question, until his remaining eye brightened slightly. He cleared his throat before sitting up a little taller, a little more alert.

She didn’t know what she’d _expected_ to hear, but it certainly wasn’t a hushed, thoughtful “... Kalina came by.” 

To say it was a shock to hear was a severe understatement. Kalina was one of the most successful spies in Spyre. The only reason Sklonda even _knew_ she existed was because of Pok, and even then it wasn’t like he was going out getting drinks with her after work or anything (not that she would have accepted anyway). She supposed that she could have showed up on the same basis the Solisian agents had come here for, but… It still made her uneasy, for some reason. A lot of unbelievable things had happened as of late, and this felt almost a little _too_ unbelievable.

“Kalina? Like, _Fallinel agent_ Kalina?” Sklonda said quietly, taking a glance at the doorway. Any doubt left in her mind vanished at the expression Pok was giving her—she’d never seen him look so sure about something before, laced with a hint of desperation that was honestly heartbreaking to see. “She just showed up in the middle of the night? What was she here for?”

Again, Pok was quiet. She watched as he thought and thought and as he crossed his arms once more in growing frustration. Finally, he gave a tired sigh, croaking out a defeated “I… I think we just talked. I don’t know.”

The sudden lack of confidence in his voice was both disheartening and genuinely scary to hear. Pok had always been so sure of himself, and even when he was uncertain about something he never lost composure. Now, though, he just seemed… Exhausted. Too tired to keep up anymore. It was bad enough watching all of this happen to him from the outside, and yet Sklonda could only imagine how crushing this was to actually be _experiencing_. He kept trying to act tough for her sake, kept trying to pretend like nothing was wrong after every migraine and memory lapse and blood-soaked bandage, but she could tell just how close he was to losing control. He was trying so hard not to admit it, because Pok Gukgak was supposed to be the charming, clever goblin spy who could always slip his way out of trouble, but he was _scared_ . He was _so painfully, obviously scared_.

So Sklonda rested her hand on his and said “Hey. We’re going to figure this out, I promise.” 

He nodded slowly, hesitantly. It was a small promise, a quiet one, but it was reassuring nonetheless (or, at least she hoped it was). They didn’t have a lot of reassuring things left anymore. 

Maybe it had been a hard week, the worst one of their lives. Maybe neither of them knew how they’d survived it. But now, the most they could do was keep living—no matter what that ended up meaning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so the fact that there are 10 subscriptions to this actually shocked me like i did NOT think that many ppl were gonna be interested in this...if u want to come talk to me my tumblr account is @frill-shark :0 thanks so much for the interest so far!


	3. dead man walking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me writing abt a fantasy comedy universe where people do insane, reality-breaking magic on the regular: ok yes but if you look at this semi realistically-  
> anyway here's another 12k word chapter

The last day did not come easily. 

It never would have, really, but the seizure had been a major setback regardless, a clear indication that there were more things wrong beneath the surface. And with that realization came wave after wave of tests, scans, and even the occasional detect disease just for the hell of it, all reluctantly accepted by Pok with a tired sigh and noncommittal shrug. It got to the point where his physical injuries were essentially healed—the many lacerations closed up for good but likely to scar in a way that healing potions just couldn’t fix—and yet he was still confined to the hospital in fear of a relapse, a repeat incident of a night not even he himself could remember the details of. Needless to say, it had made Pok absolutely _miserable_.

In all the years that Sklonda had known him, he had never liked sitting still—whether it was traveling the world per government’s orders or taking her on a stroll through the city, he always walked with a spring in his step and a confidence in his stride. Even when they moved to Elmville, she would constantly find him pacing around their apartment with papers in hand (he claimed it helped him think better to be on the move, which felt debatable). And whenever she’d teased him with a _careful, one day you’ll start doing that and just walk right out the door,_ he would always reply _well, it’s a good thing that I’ve got something here that I’ll always come back for_. 

Seeing him now, kept still for the first time in his life, felt wrong in the worst kind of way.

A full week passed before they finally let him go. A full week of sitting and waiting while so much yet _so little_ happened. Pok was making progress—a lot of it, actually—but at the same time it felt like there was always a catch, something that prevented each step forward from feeling like a true victory. He was getting out of bed with proud cries of _I told you I couldn’t be kept down for long!_ but then she would catch him wincing at bright lights and loud noises when he thought she wasn’t looking. There would be times where he could catch himself before he forgot, with such tact that it was almost like he’d never forgotten anything at all, but then he wouldn’t be able to remember what day it was or what had just been said to him. And sometimes he seemed so much like his old self, all bravado and cheer despite the circumstances, but for all the reassuring smiles he gave her they never quite reached his eye. Every day was full of its own individual ups and downs that kept either of them from getting truly hopeful again. 

No, they’d lost all chances of that when Pok had finally mustered up the courage to call the contact in the Solisian government about _what came next_ , who had directed him to another contact, who repeated the process another three times until the call was virtually untraceable. When he’d finally reached the person he needed to speak to (and that wasn’t even mentioning the amount of verification he’d had to go through to prove it was really him, because apparently they couldn’t be fucked to show up in person again), the resulting conversation had been grim. He wasn’t losing his job, per se—because once you started being a secret agent, you never truly stopped—but in this case “extended leave” was essentially the same thing. Sklonda caught snippets of weak reassurances like _keep in mind that this is in no means final,_ and _this is just a formality, you know how important it is to keep track of the status of our agents,_ and _we’re looking into other solutions as we speak_ , reassurances that Pok clearly didn’t take any relief from. 

There was a softer edge to the agent’s voice on the other end of the line, one tinged in regret. If anything, Sklonda was glad they knew what they were losing. 

“ _Other solutions,_ huh?” She’d questioned gently after it was all over, as Pok stared down at the crystal with a distant expression. “Did they really mean it, or were they just bullshitting you?” 

Pok had sighed loudly and ran a hand through his hair, which was messy and tangled from how many nights he’d spent in this godforsaken hospital. “No. Magic’s pretty powerful, but I’m pretty sure this is something it just can’t fix,” He narrowed his eye skeptically. “At least, not in a way I would trust.”

He’d gotten better at hiding the raw disappointment, the crestfallen look he got whenever he heard another piece of bad news (which was very, very often), and yet it still wasn’t good enough to get past her. She was seconds from apologizing, again—because she just couldn’t think of anything else to say at this point—but then Pok had raised a hand to stop her. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s…” 

She watched as he trailed off, the words dying on his tongue. It felt like a disservice to the both of them to say it was fine when everything was so clearly _not_. So instead of an empty promise or hollow comfort, Sklonda stood up and rested a hand on his shoulder, his cheek, until he finally gave in and leaned against her. There were no words she could say to make this better.

(Later, when he was writing a regretful reminder for himself about the call on the cardstock paper she’d brought along with shaking hands—one of their many attempts in trying to find out how not to forget—her steadying was doing a lot more for him than just in an emotional way).

But it wasn’t all bad either. Calling to check on Riz was always the highlight of their days, even if it got Pok worried enough to keep a notepad and pen close whenever the crystal got passed to him. Despite how much they assured Riz that things were fine, that Pok was really and truly getting better, the fact that they still weren’t home spoke volumes in itself. The initial excitement they’d used to hear so plainly from Riz was slowly replaced by a softer, quieter worry day by day. _I’m still having fun!_ went to _I’m doing good, but I wish you were here,_ to _yesterday you said dad was getting up and stuff, so that means you’re coming home soon, right?_ They could never decide just how much of the story to tell. Pok tried so hard not to let anything slip about the memory problems, even going as far as practically transcribing Riz’s words on paper while he spoke, but Sklonda had had to bail him out more than once when he’d faltered upon hearing Riz remind him about something he’d told him not minutes before. Most of all, though, they just missed him. God, what she wouldn’t give to see him again after this whole nightmare. 

Jasper had called a couple times as well, each met with a fresh apology from Sklonda over how long this was taking that was quickly waved off. It was all mostly updates—swapping stories, anything new about Pok’s condition, if Riz was actually getting to bed on time like he claimed—but they too were laced with concern. Apparently, she’d caught Riz pulling out some of her old first aid books off the shelf, the kind of book you gave to young adventurers about what to do in case of an owlbear or displacer beast attack, and when she’d asked about it he had said this was how he was “going to help.” _He’s a good kid. He’s such a good kid,_ Jasper had said quietly while Sklonda’s claws clenched tighter around the crystal. _But I think the longer you keep this from him, the more it’s going to hurt._

She was right, but that didn’t make it any easier. 

By about halfway in the week, the stress of it all had nearly broken them. Sklonda was snatching at any opportunity to meet up with investigators on Pok’s case, and she left each meeting more frustrated than before. The case was going nowhere. Evidence was minimal, magic detection spells came up with nothing, and by the time anyone had managed to find the original crime scene the docks had already been scrubbed clean. There were leads, but they were so flimsy that it was hardly worth the effort to look into them—and Kalina was untrackable, obviously (she wholeheartedly believed his recounting of that night, but there was only so much they could do. How did you find the unfindable?). And every time she got back to the hospital and broke the news—or lack of—Pok looked a little more defeated. Ever since the seizure, it was as if he didn’t want to get his hopes back up again. He was frustrated and more bored than he’d ever been in his life and in pain _all the time_ and yet he just seemed so _tired._ It hurt so fucking badly to see a guy like Pok stuck in bed like this, to watch as he got more and more weary with each day’s monotone promise of white walls, headaches, and the pain of forgetting. 

Finally, Sklonda couldn’t just sit there anymore and let him spiral deeper and deeper down. So, after making sure he was up to it, she made another call that night. From what she could remember hearing from the rare family gathering and from Pok himself, not all of his siblings lived in Bastion City anymore—not that it didn’t stop her from trying. It wasn’t easy, but eventually she got through to an apartment complex across town, to a call greeted by _Sklonda, is that you? God, it’s been ages!_ And once again, she found herself breaking down the situation, one that grew more and more complicated by the day, to which she was met with a reassuring _hey, hey, I know just how touchy my brother gets when he needs help. I’ll be there, I promise,_ that brought her a little bit of hope for the first time in a long while. 

(Having Pok look over the few family photos she had on her crystal to make sure he even _recognized_ them anymore did the exact opposite).

But when Pok’s sister Azak walked through the doorway the next morning, she immediately knew the effort had been worth it. In that moment, the expression on Pok’s face had held more genuine excitement than she’d seen all week. Azak had taken one look at him, and without even the thought of hesitation, rushed over to pull him into a sweeping hug, being gentle about it despite his cracked ribs having mostly healed by this point. All the while, she was saying frantic things like _oh fuck, Pok, I would’ve come to see you earlier if I’d known,_ and _I can call the rest of the family over if you want, when they find out about this they’ll be dying to see if you’re okay,_ and _seriously though, how are you doing?_

As soon as he’d managed to work past his own grin to reply ( _It’s just fine, don’t worry about dragging everyone here, and I’m doing a hell of a lot better than I was a week ago_ ) things calmed down a little. Sklonda had been careful to warn her about everything that had happened to him—and that meant _everything._ Something she was quickly starting to learn was just how unpredictable Pok’s memory could be, from acting completely fine to trailing off in the middle of his own sentence at the drop of a hat. The visit could go bad at any moment. It was a risk that, as much as she wished she didn’t have to, because _god_ did it feel awful to have to worry about something like that on Pok’s behalf, had to be acknowledged. 

And yet for the first time in what seemed like forever, things didn’t go wrong. Azak, unlike everyone else that had come in to see him, didn’t ask questions about the past. Instead, she kept her focus on the present, telling him about what the rest of their family was up to and teasing him about the decidedly unflattering way a decent portion of his hair had been cut upon his initial operation—to which Pok had indignantly cried _you know what?_ _Get out of here, I’ve changed my mind, I’m still in mourning over my good looks and am refusing to take visitors during this distressing time._ Despite his joking tone (which felt so good to hear again), Azak had still smiled at him apologetically and, as a compromise, pulled a sleek black hat out of her bag. _One of dad’s. Sklonda mentioned that the hospital staff really did a number on you, and I felt like you were the one who needed it more right now._

She must have gotten it back sometime between Sklonda calling her and now, because she definitely hadn’t mentioned a surprise like that over the crystal. Pok had gone still and unreadable, carefully extending a hand to grasp the soft, weathered fabric. He’d stared at it for a long, long time, the slight furrow in his expression betraying the quiet struggle he was facing, before tentatively whispering _he used to wear this one all the time, right? When we were kids?_ And Sklonda had held her breath as Azak thought for a moment, unaware of the sheer weight her answer would bring, until she shrugged a little and said _yeah, I’m pretty sure. It was one of his favorites._ The look of pure relief that washed over Pok’s face was enough to make her want to start crying. 

Azak stayed for as long as she could until she had to get back to work. _Call me when you get out of here, alright? I’ll try and come down to visit sometime._ Pok had laughed a little, _really_ laughed, and promised that he’d invite her over as soon as he didn’t look like shit anymore. They’d watched her leave feeling lighter than they’d had in a long, long time. Both of them had desperately needed the break. Both of them had needed something like that to take their minds off of what was going on, something that didn’t end in disaster or heartbreak or cold hard reality. 

But the distraction didn’t last long. Four days later, Pok was released from the hospital, and it was only then that they fully realized just how much everything was going to change. 

The last day, for all of the time spent waiting for it to come, passed by in a blur. Final forms were filled out, Dr. Starling has shown up to send them off and to give Pok an extensive list of warnings ( _don’t exert yourself, don’t stress yourself out, don’t do anything that would make your migraines worse, and don’t let the freedom go to your head_ ). The few things Sklonda had taken with her were packed up. They were given a truly concerning amount of prescribed medication for him to take over the next couple months, and Pok got up out of bed for the last time. There was an air of nervous excitement between them, partially relieved to finally be going home but partially terrified about what the future would hold when they left—because in the hospital, their worries were contained into a relatively small bubble of control. The moment they stepped outside, those worries became real. 

“Sklonda?”

She froze just as she was finishing helping him button up his shirt (technically hers, she’d been too panicked to think ahead far enough to bring some of his own clothes along until it was too late). They were standing up against the wall of the room, and the only thing that was keeping them from walking out right now was Pok’s insistence on putting on something at least halfway decent. There was a slightly distant, shaky tone to his voice that was getting all too common to hear these days. 

“Yeah?” Sklonda took a step back—but not too far back, because despite how many times he’d proven he could actually get up and walk on his own by now she still couldn’t help but be worried. “Don’t tell me you’ve taken a liking to this place.” She managed a little smile, a little joke. It was one of the only things that had kept them from completely breaking down in the two weeks they’d spent here. 

Pok chuckled back, in that vaguely uncertain way she’d come to expect by now. “No, no, nothing like that,” He went quiet again after a moment, though, as he clutched his father’s hat a little tighter in his hands. But something must have slipped in her expression as she stared at him, because he eventually spoke up again with a nervous smile and a soft “... You- You look worried. I don’t look _that_ bad, do I?” 

Sklonda hesitated. It wasn’t the question she’d expected him to ask, but it hurt to hear nonetheless. For just how much she loved him, Pok looked... Rough. Leagues better than when she’d first seen him in the hospital, but rough. The still-healing scars only barely hidden under the medical eyepatch the doctors had given him, the uneven and disheveled hair, the sheer exhaustion on his face that made him seem so much older than he really was—he’d truly been through hell, but despite everything he was still standing in front of her. And for the hundredth time, she realized that it could have been so easy for Pok not to have pulled through at all, for him to have died a lonely and painful death in those harbors, for him to have never come home again.

And then there were tears in her eyes, tears she didn’t even bother trying to wipe away. Before Pok could say anything else, she pulled him into a tight hug, feeling the warmth from his chest through the mostly-buttoned shirt that was soft and solid and _real_ . “Hey, you’re- You’re fine, honey. It’s fine,” She felt his slow exhale, his trembling hands on her back, the gentle way he rested his head against her shoulder. “And don’t… Don’t say that shit about yourself, okay? You spent two weeks in the fucking _hospital,_ the fact that you even _get_ to walk out alive is all I care about.” Something she’d never admitted to Pok was that, deep down, she’d kept wondering every damn day when the rug was going to get pulled out from under their feet. It didn’t feel real all the time, that he was really getting better (to an extent), that they were really going to go home together and learn to pick up the pieces. And yet, as she watched him crumple into her embrace, desperate like it was the last thing he’d ever get to do, she realized that maybe she hadn’t been the only one that had felt that way. 

After a long moment of standing there and fighting tears, she found the strength to add “But that doesn’t mean you’re getting out of taking a shower the second we get home.” 

Pok let out a ghost of a laugh, a quiet rumble in his chest that was punctuated by a sniffle he didn’t try to hide. “Do you have _any_ idea what being stuck in a hospital bed does to your self-image?” He ran a hand through an unruly curl of hair and visibly shuddered, throwing the hat on without a second thought. “I’d kill somebody for a comb right now.” 

When they walked out of the hospital, Pok’s arm around her shoulders to help him along, for the first time in weeks there was nothing on their minds but home. 

* * *

The drive was quiet, for the most part. This time, instead of that laser-focus on the road ahead, Sklonda kept finding herself glancing over at Pok, who was staring out the window at the highway rushing by—until she kept catching him wincing at the bright flashes of road signs and passing cars, and he turned to stare at the dashboard instead. The first hour or so on the road had been almost relaxed, filled with light teasing and daydreaming about what they had to do once they got home (get Pok a shower, for starters, pick Riz up, maybe take it easy for a little while. They tried to reason that it was something they would have done under normal-er circumstances anyway, without the threat of Pok having to “take it easy” _permanently_ looming over their heads). But the farther along they got, the more that initial rush of freedom began to wear off, replaced by the familiar worry that Sklonda was starting to get pretty fucking sick of at this point. 

By mid-afternoon, there was only an hour or so left before they reached Elmville, and the tension in the car had become nearly tangible. Finally, as Pok fingered one of the little orange bottles of prescription pills (was it the migraine medication? The anticonvulsants? The general painkillers? She couldn’t see from here) he glanced over at her and, in a voice quiet from the long silence, gently asked “... So, what are we gonna tell Riz?” 

Sklonda’s heart sank a little at first, as she could remember him asking the exact same question earlier on in the drive, until he followed up with a “No, really. Because I know this-“ He tapped right above the eyepatch covering his still-healing injury and flinched a little despite himself. “-Doesn’t look all that great at first glance.”

“It doesn’t look all that great at a second glance either,” She managed a momentary joking smile that quickly faded into something much more serious. “Honestly, though, do you think he’ll even believe what we tell him?” Telling Riz the truth was absolutely out of the question. Not only had the two of them decided long, _long_ ago that they weren’t going to let him in on Pok’s incredibly dangerous career choice, but confessing that he’d been mauled half to death by someone _still out there_ was something else entirely. But Riz was a smart kid, and while his parents might be lying, the less-than-subtle bite wound in Pok’s head didn’t. 

Pok paused, in that exact same way he’d had two hours earlier, before saying “We’ve done it before, probably. I just… I don’t want him to know just how bad it is yet.” His voice was soft and sad, tinged with the creeping realization of how much his injury was going to change _everything_ , and how nothing was ever going to be the same for their family as soon as they stepped out of this car. Sklonda couldn’t blame him for not wanting Riz to have to have that realization too, at least not while they themselves were still struggling to process it. 

So just like they’d done time and time again, they made up a story—of a car accident on a highway, of wounds caused by twisted metal and shattered glass, of concussions and broken bones and a funny little thing called traumatic brain injury. The whole thing felt so detached, like she was recounting the debacle to a coworker five years down the line when she could talk about it without crying. Neither of them said it aloud, but she knew they were both wondering and worrying about just how much of the story Pok would end up remembering two hours from now. 

He’d tried to explain what it was like to forget back in the hospital, but it was something that even he didn’t fully understand. The memory issues were so _unpredictable_ —sometimes he could remember things fine, sometimes it was just the generalities, sometimes he just couldn’t remember anything at all. Sometimes memories would come back only to fade away again a little while later. Perhaps the most infuriating thing about it was that there really wasn’t anything anybody could _do_ , despite how powerful healing magic could be. It was just as likely for a spell like that to make things even worse than it would make things better. 

If she’d learned anything, it was that brain injuries were fucking _complicated._

The rest of the drive was uneventful, until suddenly they were pulling up to Strongtower Luxury Apartments, the city outside cold and cloudy. They were getting out of the car and taking the elevator up, Sklonda once again letting Pok lean against her for support despite his initial insistence on being able to walk fine (like she didn’t notice the way he winced with each step, because god knows injuries like that didn’t go away overnight, magic or no magic). And then, with the simple turn of the keys and familiar creak of the weathered door, they were _home_.

It had all happened so quickly that she hadn’t even realized the weight of what was going on until it was already happening. Sklonda watched as Pok slowly walked in, shivering at the cold chill in the room (fuck, she’d never gotten the air conditioner issue fixed, had she?) and setting down the one bag she’d reluctantly allowed him to carry. He took in the view of their run-down little apartment like he was doing it for the very first time, expression so lost in thought that she couldn’t tell if he was remembering things or forgetting them. 

They’d spent nine years here, Riz’s entire _lifetime_ here, and like it or not it was home. As Pok looked over everything in precarious silence, she couldn’t help but wonder just how many little moments like this it was going to take for her to stop getting upset at the realization that she was already so, so lucky to see him even come back at all. 

When he finally turned back to her after what felt like an eternity, his expression was suddenly so genuine and comforting that it made her heart ache. “... It’s not quite home without Riz, though, is it?” 

And then she’d hugged him again, long and hard like she always did whenever he’d come home after months spent in foreign countries for foreign reasons, when he could finally stop pretending to be someone else and start being _himself_. “He really missed you, you know,” Her voice trembled slightly despite herself. “ _I_ missed you.” 

Pok’s words were so automatic, so engrained from years upon years of tearful reunions that it went beyond the need to remember. “I know. I did too.” 

They made plans, again—Sklonda would go pick up Riz while Pok took a much-needed moment to clean himself up and get everything in order. It had taken a bit of convincing, because despite how much he tried to tell her otherwise she really, _really_ didn’t trust that something bad wouldn’t happen to him at this point, but after multiple written reminders and a promise to call if anything went wrong she found herself agreeing. She reasoned that Pok could use some time alone, that after two weeks in the hospital _anyone_ would, and that he was doing way better now than the last time he’d managed to talk her into leaving him. 

It didn’t stop her from worrying, but what it did do was put a faint look of assurance on Pok’s face, an expression she rarely got to see anymore. She supposed it would have to be enough. 

So after one last reminder that Pok had playfully pretended not to need (despite how much both of them knew the truth) and a kiss goodbye Sklonda walked back out the door, down the elevator, and into the cold parking lot. The real reunion was yet to come. 

* * *

Pulling up to the Luckstone’s house was somehow both the most anticipated yet nerve-wracking thing she’d done all week. 

The short drive over had been, if nothing else, a strategic planning session. Sklonda had decided early on during the hospital stay that if she had to break something big to Riz, it wouldn’t be over the crystal—not if she could help it, at least. She had to be there in person, because if nothing else she would be able to pull him into a hug and wipe his tears if need be, if she had to tell him the bad news neither of them had ever wanted to hear. 

Now, with the possibility of Pok’s potential death mostly out of her mind, she had a very different type of bad news to give. The drive back from the Luckstone’s house to their apartment would only be about ten minutes. This was her last chance to explain everything, and she was running out of time.

And yet, when Sklonda walked out onto the Luckstone’s lawn, for a crucial moment every meticulously planned word she’d prepared was thrown out the window, because before she could even step foot on their porch the door eased open and a little green blur raced out. Riz—bright-eyed, curious, troublemaking Riz—was suddenly there, burying his face in her shirt that hardly muffled his sharp cry of “ _-You’re back!”_ that had literally every other thought in her brain screeching to a halt. He was so small but his arms were wrapped around her so tight and for a moment, just _one_ moment, absolutely nothing else mattered. 

“Oh- Oh, kiddo,” Sklonda heard herself saying as she kneeled down on the grass to pull Riz closer, the tension in her that had been present for the entire car ride finally fading. “God, I missed you _so_ much.” 

She was vaguely aware of Jasper and Oliver and Penny all congregating nearby, expressions ranging from worried to unsure to a kind of soft sadness, respectively. Sklonda was about to greet them when she felt Riz sniffle a little from her shirt collar, and then she was running her hands through his hair once more, as comforting as she could possibly make it. It was hard not to feel guilty, for leaving him for so fucking long, for keeping half the story from him for reasons she couldn’t even fully justify. _But that part’s over now,_ she told herself, trying not to let her hands shake. _We’re tough. We’re all tough. We’re going to get through this._

By the time Riz finally wriggled out of her grasp, his eyes were bright and excited again as if he hadn’t just been on the verge of tears. “See? I told you I wouldn’t let you down,” He said proudly (and of _course_ the job was the first thing he worried about), his words dimming slightly when he looked over Sklonda’s shoulder to see that Pok wasn’t there with her. “Is-“ 

“Sweetheart, you did great,” She started with something warm, as she stood up and put a steadying hand on his shoulder. Clocking the glance he’d given towards the car, plus the Luckstone’s nervous expressions, she was quick to add “And dad’s doing fine. He just wanted to take a shower before you got back, y’know?” Sklonda ruffled his hair lovingly before narrowing her eyes a little at him. “Like I hope _you’ve_ been doing.” 

As Riz rushed to defend himself, she took a moment to look up at the Luckstones and smile softly, reassuringly, in a way that she hoped was convincing against the dark shadows under her eyes and the flash of her fangs that so many people found frightening. “Was everything fine?” 

“ _Mom_ , I told you I had everything under control-“

“Riz, going to bed at midnight for three days straight is _not_ under control-“

And while Sklonda argued with her son—if you could call it that, the pure relief of seeing each other again had wiped away any potential bite in their voices—Jasper Luckstone met her undoubtedly stressed gaze with a look that said _don’t worry about explaining things right now, we can talk about it later,_ and then smiled back. “It was just fine, Sklonda. We’re really gonna miss your boy, he was so much fun to have around.” 

For the first time since he’d rushed out to greet her, Riz took a step away from Sklonda to glance back at where the Luckstones had gathered. “Thanks for letting me stay,” His words were momentarily all business, which was both genuinely endearing and genuinely comical to hear out of an excitable nine-year-old goblin boy. “I had a great time.”

“Aw, you don’t have to thank us,” Oliver replied kindly, taking a second to hand Riz’s battered briefcase over to him that had presumably been dropped as soon as he’d spotted Sklonda. “Your family’s welcome here anytime you need it.” He looked right at her after he’d said it, expression clearly stating _and that goes for all of you._

“-And don’t forget you can always call us, or ask to come over again, or ask for _me_ to come over again-“ Penny, who had obviously been just barely holding herself back the entire conversation, suddenly spoke up with the kind of enthusiastic dejection in her voice that only a kid at the end of a sleepover could have. And in response, Riz had turned back in a heartbeat and buried her in yet another hug, saying something muffled that sounded like _ofcourseIwill!_ Followed by _thisisthebestandonlysleepoverI’veeverhad!_

They talked for a little while longer, as Sklonda thanked them once again (because, after everything that had happened, how could she not?) and they ensured her that it really and truly had been no trouble at all. She’d picked up Riz’s briefcase to take to the car if not to give her hands something to do, as he reluctantly said his last goodbyes—but not without a tinge of growing excitement, because at the end of it all leaving meant his parents were back in town, which meant going home, which meant finally getting to see his dad again after three long, uncertain months. The wait was finally over. 

What would come next, however, was something none of them could know for certain. 

By the time the two of them got back in the car, Riz was chatting her ear off about everything he’d been doing in her absence, eager to catch her up to what was probably the most fun he’d ever had with a friend (unfortunately, there wasn’t much else to compete with). While it was undoubtedly a fresh breath of air compared to the constant stress of the hospital, where every word had felt slightly strained with worry, she _really_ didn’t have much time to explain everything. When Riz paused to take a deep breath—after a truly impressive forty-five seconds of recounting how he and Penny had gotten into a hide-and-seek standoff—Sklonda took the opportunity to speak. “... Hey, Riz?” 

For all his enthusiasm, he must have noticed the exhaustion in her words that she just hadn’t been able to hide. “Yeah?” 

Even though Sklonda had her gaze fixated on the road ahead, she tried to smile for him anyway. “How about you save the rest of your stories for when we get home, so dad can hear them too?” She stopped for a moment, her voice catching a little despite herself. “He… He really missed you.” 

“Oh, I- I did too,” Riz was suddenly quiet, and one glance in the rearview mirror was all it took for her to catch the look of concern on his face. “Is he okay?” 

It was a question he’d asked without fail every single time they’d called him, no matter how much Pok had promised him personally that he was doing better. Sklonda couldn’t help but think back to the first time they’d gotten the tentative go-ahead that they could start thinking about leaving, and of _course_ the first thing Pok had wanted to do was tell Riz. They’d gotten their hopes up. And then, that night, he’d nearly gotten sick from a sudden migraine, the pain from it so rattling that he’d nearly fractured her wrist from just how hard he’d held onto it. The incident had tacked another two days onto their hospital stay, and while the tests the doctors had run afterward to see if they should switch him to some stronger medication had been less than enjoyable, they didn’t come close to the look she’d seen on his face when he’d solemnly called Riz back to let him know they weren’t coming home tonight. 

“He’s…” Sklonda found herself trailing off, hesitance starting to find its way into her voice. “I won’t lie to you, Riz. He’s doing a lot better now, but he wasn’t always like that.” 

Now that she’d started, there was no way she could stop. “I found out what happened. I wanted to tell you earlier, but he- He got in a car accident while he was out of town. Kiddo, it… It was _bad._ They weren’t sure if he was gonna make it at first,” She swallowed hard, trying not to dwell on that first day, of just how _fucking scared_ she’d been of losing him. “And he’s come a really long way, but he’s still not feeling great, you know?”

In the rearview mirror, Riz nodded slowly, cautiously. She took it as a sign to continue. “I know you’re excited to see him, and he is too. But just don’t forget to give him some space, alright? He’s recovering from a ton of head injuries, and he- He lost an eye, he’s been having headaches and memory problems…” Sklonda trailed off momentarily. The words had never once gotten easier to say. “He’s home, but he’s still healing, and it’s going to take some time for him to adjust. For _all_ of us to adjust.” 

The implications of her words settled in like a heavy fog. Riz was silent for a long, long time as he struggled to make sense of it all. When he finally spoke up again, it was soft, almost confused in the most heartbreaking way possible. “... But I thought he said he was doing okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he did,” As she said it, she remembered the countless times she’d watched him force a smile in that hospital bed, grit his teeth against the pain that never seemed to stop ailing him, and lie to her sweetly that everything was going to be alright. And even before the incident, there were times when she’d catch him up late at night unable to sleep, because not even a man like Pok could spend over a decade of his life in the secret service and get out unscathed. Every time, he would tell her not to worry. He was Pok Gukgak, agent of the Solisian government, and he always had everything under control. 

Until now, he’d never had a reason to believe otherwise. 

“He’s really stubborn, Riz,” Was what Sklonda finally decided on, after shaking herself out of her own thoughts. “And this hasn’t been an easy couple of weeks. He just doesn’t want anyone to have to worry about him, _especially_ not us.”

“Oh,” She could see how Riz glanced out the window through the mirror, briefly obscuring the expression on his face that suddenly seemed so complicated and hard to read—part concern, part disappointment, maybe even part guilt (god, she desperately hoped that wasn’t guilt). “I-I didn’t know.” 

She tried to reassure him a little, to tell him that it was going to be okay, but the silence that lasted for the rest of the ride said otherwise. It would have been something he’d found out anyway in about ten minutes or so, something neither her nor Pok would have ever been able to keep from him—and yet Sklonda was wishing with everything she had that she’d told him all this weeks ago. Of course Riz would take it personally. He was excitable and passionate but also so _perceptive_ and of course he’d be kicking himself over not realizing something was wrong earlier (or more wrong than it seemed). She considered speaking up again, trying to get Riz to talk to her about this, but in the end decided that the best thing to do was give him a moment to think. The entire situation was a mess and there was so little either of them could do about it. 

When they finally reached Strongtower again, Riz had managed to regain a little of his former enthusiasm—apparently, getting to see Pok again outweighed the haunting implications of his injuries—in the form of quietly tapping his claws against the car seat, the sole show of energy in a kid who was never still. They’d stepped out of the car, and as Sklonda took the briefcase out for him, he’d carefully reached up to hold her hand while they walked in, a gesture that had become rarer and rarer with Riz’s growing tendency towards self-sufficiency that he honestly seemed all too young for. She gave his hand a squeeze one last time in hope that he wouldn’t notice the way her fingers had started to shake, and with that they headed up to their apartment. 

Sklonda hesitated upon reaching their door, a brief spike of worry shooting through her that had become regretfully common over the last couple weeks. Pok hadn’t called her, which could either mean that things had gone very right or _very_ wrong. It was a fear born of the night he’d convinced her to leave the hospital, and ever since then she had never been able to fully shake it from her mind. A moment later, though, she did her best to try and shrug it off at least for now, refusing to let herself freeze up in front of Riz. Things had to be okay. She didn’t know what she would _do_ if, after everything they’d been through, things weren’t okay.

With Riz waiting apprehensively at her side, she unlocked the door. 

Immediately, she relaxed upon seeing Pok sitting at the rickety table, taking one last hurried glance at a scrap of paper she recognized as the reminder she’d left him earlier. He already looked so much better, even in her thirty-minute absence—he’d showered, thankfully, brushed out his hair, and washed the smell of sterilized bedsheets and bandages off his skin. If it hadn’t been for the medical eyepatch still tied around his face, because for all the healing magic and potions they had really only lessened the lasting impact, it wouldn’t have been obvious that he’d almost died. He hastily stood up when he saw them open the door, expression flickering with a faint hesitance Sklonda had never seen before. 

In the past, when Pok had come home after a months-long mission, he’d make a show out of it. He’d hardly be able to stop himself from pulling them both into a crushing hug the moment he stepped inside, and once he did he wouldn’t let go for a long, long time, like he’d been looking forward to it ever since he’d left. He’d smile brighter than the sun at the first word either of them said and immediately propose they all do something together, anything at all, if not to remind himself that he was home and safe and they were reunited again. 

Now, though, he stood there shivering slightly from the chill in the room, tense from anticipating a reaction he’d never had to fear before. Pok took a deep breath before managing a soft, tentative smile, like he was afraid Riz wouldn’t recognize him. “... Hey there, kiddo.” 

There was a quiet pause after his words, the whole apartment going still at the way he could just barely keep his voice from choking up. And then suddenly Riz was taking one step forward, and another, and another, until he finally just raced ahead and _crashed_ into Pok, pulling him into a desperate hug that he only barely had enough time to kneel down for. After that, the hesitance was gone—even from across the room, Sklonda could tell just how tightly the two of them were holding onto each other, maybe tighter than they’d ever had before (because there had been a real moment when, at least on Pok’s end, he’d thought he might never have gotten to see him again, and now he was holding onto Riz like he’d fall if he didn’t). It was intensely relieving and heartwrenching and _fuck,_ there were tears in her eyes _again_ , and by the time she wiped them out Pok had somehow managed to let go of Riz, instead opting to put a comforting hand on his shoulder because he still couldn’t bring himself to back away. 

When she looked at Riz now, there was nothing left of the sad, crestfallen, guilty expression she’d seen before. Pok’s injuries, and everything that they meant, were just about the furthest thing from his mind—because he was _home_ , and that was the only thing that mattered.

He looked happy. They both looked so happy. 

She watched them for a little while as the initial shock faded, wanting to at least give them some time to catch up, and once again they started acting like the father and son she knew so well. Pok was explaining that no, _really_ , the missing eye and torn-up ear weren’t actually that bad (not unlike his excuses when he’d come home one day with his arm in a cast and a sheepish expression on his face) while Riz listened with rapt, undivided attention. It was honestly the best sight she’d seen in a while now, and when Pok shot her a genuine smile from over Riz’s shoulder, in that moment she believed for the first time in a long time that things were going to get better. 

And to her credit, that idea held up for longer than she would’ve thought. 

The rest of the night was quiet, thankfully. After the constant uncertainty and stress of the hospital, they all needed an opportunity to catch their breath—and although this was far from over, they’d silently agreed that for the first night, at least, they had to do _something_ besides worry about the future. But it felt like as soon as they got the opportunity to slow down, the exhaustion that had been building up day after day came crashing back in, and no matter how hard they tried it was something they just couldn’t shake. 

Despite how much they tried to keep an at least somewhat lively exterior for Riz’s sake, because _god_ did Sklonda wish this was the happy reunion it normally was, it was clear that even he was being brought down a little by their sheer tiredness that only got more and more clear as the night went on. He was a lot gentler, more vigilant, more cautious than usual— _just like you’d told him to,_ she realized with a stab of guilt. And, even more unusually, Pok suddenly seemed just as nervous. It was so painfully obvious that he wanted to be engaged in every last bit of Riz’s stories, to catch up on the time he’d missed spending with him, but there was a slight hesitance to his voice and his movements like he was afraid of making the situation worse somehow. Sklonda knew by now just how devastating Pok’s injuries had been to him, and the lengths he kept going to to try and pretend as if they didn’t bother him, and yet she never could have imagined how much it would change _everything_ —right down to the way he held himself.

She’d spent the past couple weeks in constant fear of Pok’s condition getting worse, but for all his shaky reassurances and charming smiles how could she ever have understood just how fucking terrifying it was for _him?_

Because although he’d gotten a lot better at hiding the headaches and the winces whenever he had to walk and just how frustrated he was at all of this, he still couldn’t hide (at least, not from her) how he occasionally tensed in the middle of conversations, and how his words faltered as he scrambled to remember what has just been said. The first true reminder came when Pok had sat down with Riz on the couch, after it had finally sunk in for them that he was really _home_ , as he explained some odd craft comprised of post-it notes and string that he’d made over at the Luckstone’s house (which looked very suspiciously like a scaled-down version of one of Sklonda’s crime boards, except way more colorful and decidedly not murder themed). Nothing had gone wrong at first. Riz had started reading off his own loopy handwriting, Pok had teased him with a _you know, you remind me so much of your mom sometimes,_ and he’d flashed her a grin that had genuinely made her smile back. And then he’d had to go and say _I remember this one time when…_ which had caused him to trail off, which had caused him to freeze, which had caused him to shoot another glance back at her, except this one was nothing but panic. 

Sklonda had fished him out, thankfully, and none of them had wanted to bring it up again, but that desperate look on his face had told her that in that moment he’d forgotten more than just a memory. 

Later on, after the sun had long since set and they’d ensured that Riz was going to bed at a reasonable time ( _sorry kiddo, but you’re not gonna be staying up as long as you did while we were gone—and it’s been a long day for all of us anyway_ ), things settled down as Pok got used to their apartment all over again. Eventually, she’d found him staring intently at the hidden wall, the part where the flaking paint didn’t fully cover it anymore. She watched for a little while as he tested the edges of the wall, searching for the trigger he couldn’t quite remember no matter how hard he tried, before she finally couldn’t just sit there anymore and got up to press the button for him. 

“Hey- Hold on,” He protested half-heartedly as her hand hovered an inch from the concealed trigger in the wall. “Give me a _chance_ , dear, that spot was gonna be my next guess.”

She might have believed him solely because of how relaxed he looked, far more relaxed than he’d ever been in the hospital, but the way he kept glancing at her hand was just too concentrated for her not to notice. Regardless, Sklonda backed off and let him press the button with a soft _click,_ if not to let him have the minor satisfaction, moving the wall away to reveal the office behind it for the first time since Pok had left home three months ago. 

And she _swore_ she saw flickers of recognition in his face as he slowly paced around the tiny room, running a hand along the slightly dusty desk like he’d done so many times before. It was hard not to watch for them nowadays. Sklonda wanted to believe in him whenever he said that he _really_ remembered, she wanted it more than anything else in the world, but she could never completely tell just how much he did or didn’t—and the amount of times she’d had to step in and help spoke for themselves. Right now, though, she forced herself to ease at the sight of Pok quietly taking it all in. She would never forgive herself if she interrupted him trying to get something, anything back. 

Unsurprisingly, Sklonda had worried a lot over the past couple weeks—over Pok, over Pok’s job, over Riz, over everything—but the one she was the most ashamed of was the worry that she was doing more harm than help by being there. It was _intensely_ irrational, something she knew he would never even dream of admitting to her. Still, it was hard not to see Pok get more and more frustrated at the loss of control, to see him beat himself up over and over again for struggling, and not wonder if she had contributed to it somehow.

She blinked, and Pok had taken a seat at his desk, glancing over the files, the folders, the framed picture of their family that rested in the back. There were so many secrets here, secrets that the Solisian government and secret service really, _really_ didn’t want them to keep at this point, and yet she watched as he picked up the first thing he could find—some paper trail type document for a case long past—and cracked it open curiously. “Hm. Guess it wouldn’t hurt to go over some of this again.”

“Hey, it’s your desk,” Despite how good it felt to see him home and doing alright for the first time in a _while_ , Sklonda couldn’t stop herself from asking to help out of habit. “You want me to stick around, or?...”

Pok paused for a moment, his eye narrowing momentarily down at the file he held in his hands before looking up at her, smile easy on his face in a way that told her he was trying so hard to relax. “I’ll be fine, sweetheart. Take some time off, this won’t take that long.” He cocked his head to the side a little, a gesture that was quickly starting to replace the playful winks he just couldn’t do anymore. 

Sklonda worried. After everything that had happened, she didn’t think she’d stop worrying ever again. But by now, when she’d spent so many hours at Pok’s bedside struggling through memory after memory, she knew this was a moment alone that he desperately needed. 

“... Whatever you say,” She said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder for all but a second before quickly adding “But _don’t_ let me catch you staying up all night. Just because they let you out of the hospital doesn’t mean you can jump right back into pulling all-nighters again.” 

He’d laughed at that—a real, genuine laugh—because if there was one thing Sklonda knew about him for sure, it was that Pok Gukgak didn’t know when to quit. “Alright, alright! I hear you, doc, I promise I’ll take it easy.” 

When she found him fast asleep at his desk a couple hours later and was forced to drag a couple blankets over so he didn’t freeze, like she’d done for him time and time again after a late night of putting the pieces together, for the first time in weeks things _almost_ felt normal. 

* * *

The days that came next were both so much better and so much worse. 

For the aftermath of an event so truly devastating, it was shocking just how routine everything became once more. Sklonda went back to work. She started driving Riz to school again. And Pok… Was technically supposed to be under bed rest orders, but after a two-week hospital stay she didn’t think he would ever lie down again. 

On one hand, Pok was genuinely improving. The medication he’d been given must have been working, because his headaches and migraines seemed to be getting more infrequent (either that, or he’d just gotten better at hiding them). He’d been trying to find ways to combat the memory problems, by leaving notes for himself or pouring through files and photo albums at night while she sat by his side. And he’d seemed so much happier at home in the first place—she’d watched him flash a grin at Riz more times in one night than she could count him doing (without a pained undertone, at least) during their entire hospital stay. 

But with every step forward, every little success, came the reminder that there was only so far they could go before things just weren’t going to get better anymore. Their late-night photo album sessions were always laced with the solemn silence that followed when the memories didn’t come back. Each mission file in Pok’s office was a painful reminder that he would probably never add another one to his desk. The comforting sight of him home and healing was plagued with the amount of times Sklonda had seen him stare in the mirror at his own twisted scars, had heard his frantic voice as he called her in the middle of the day after suddenly forgetting something crucial, had woken up in the middle of the night to him gritting his teeth against a burning headache that just wouldn’t leave. 

So, all things considered, she was surprised by how long it took for Riz to confront her about it. 

That night, she had been working on writing inquiries to contacts in Bastion City, calling in favors she’d hoped she never would have had to call—except that Pok’s case was _still_ going nowhere, somehow, despite how deceptively cut-and-dry it seemed compared to the amount of twistedly arcane crimes she’d seen in the past. The lack of evidence, the leads that went nowhere… It was almost enough for Sklonda to start seriously considering the possibility of some sort of cover-up, if this attack ran far deeper than either of them had realized, but the one thing keeping her from becoming _that_ paranoid was the fact that if someone had gone through that much effort to try and get him killed quietly, they would have finished the job by now. 

And yet, she refused to give up. She owed it to Pok to at least _try._

She had been in the middle of drafting an email to one of the detectives who had apparently been on the scene helping collect (the absence of) evidence—although she _highly_ doubted he would be of any help, as the fleeting conversations she’d had with him had been chock full of dark magic theories, all of which disproved by three separate detect magic accounts from other investigators—but at this point she was willing to give just about anything a try. Tonight, however, she was doing it alone. The nights spent staying up late searching for slivers of memories had started to catch up to Pok, who, after some gentle insistence on her end, was finally getting the rest he’d been prescribed. It was nearly midnight, the apartment complex had gone still long ago, and the rest of her family was asleep.

Or, she’d _thought_ they were. 

As Sklonda sat at the table, the dim light of the room only punctuated by soft lamplight and the glow of her crystal, she heard a quiet creaking noise from behind. Even with her sharp hearing, it wasn’t easy to detect over the occasional scritching of her pen on paper, and after a moment she dismissed it as nothing of interest. But then she heard it again, and again, and the creaking turned into the scraping and scrabbling of claws on wood, and that’s when she decided enough was enough. 

She cleared her throat once—a warning. “ _Careful_ , Riz, you’ll lose your balance reaching up like that.” 

The noises stopped, and when she turned around Riz was perched up on the counter in near-darkness, hovering guiltily over the cupboard. For a full five seconds, they stared at each other in silence, until Riz finally spoke up with a faint, sheepish “... Hi, mom.” 

“Kiddo, you know you could’ve just _asked_ ,” She sighed a little as she got up from her chair before managing a tired smile for Riz’s sake. “Here, you want some help getting up there?” 

They didn’t have a lot left in their kitchen, partially because of just how long they’d been gone and partially because Sklonda hadn’t had the time to run to the store during the past couple “figuring-it-all-out” days. Regardless, she eventually scrounged up a granola bar wedged in the corner of the cabinet, which Riz accepted with a muted _thanks mom couldn’t sleep,_ followed by _can I stay up with you for a little bit?_ He was already filling up a glass of water as he said it, and she took the opportunity to start shoving files and forms out of sight before he could turn back around. 

“Of course, honey,” She lovingly ruffled his hair a little when he came to sit down at the other side of the table, to which he gave a halfhearted squeak of protest. “Why couldn’t you sleep? Did you have a nightmare or something?” 

Riz paused for a moment, having already bitten off half of his snack in the time it had taken for him to settle into the creaky chair. He stared at the space Sklonda’s files had been only minutes before, the tired shadows under his eyes just a little too dark for an energetic nine-year-old boy, before managing a “No. Not really.” 

Sklonda considered asking again, but the look on his face made her hesitate. There was something apprehensive there, unreadable in that she just couldn’t tell what he was thinking no matter how hard she tried. He kept glancing around the room—to the door, to the table, to her, to the couch, and back again—in a way that implied restlessness, except that right now he was sitting stiller than she might have ever seen him sit. 

“Riz, is everything okay?” She found herself reaching across the table to put a hand on his wrist, and she watched as he fidgeted slightly, the apprehension changing into the worry that she’d seen over and over and _over_ again over the past couple weeks. 

He took in a deep breath while risking another glance at the door, and it was painfully obvious who he was looking for. “Did dad go to bed early?”

The change in topic caught Sklonda slightly off guard—but not off guard enough for her not to realize where this was going (and for her not to catch the concerning detail that Riz considered this _early_ ). “Yeah, uh- He turned in not too long ago. He’s still feeling pretty tired, all things considered, but if you had something to say to him I could…”

She trailed off as Riz’s expression tensed even further, his claws digging into the table. “Actually, Can I- Can I ask something?” 

Sklonda was afraid that she’d scare him off by speaking up, so she just gave him a single nod of silent encouragement. After a long, long pause he finally managed to scrape up the courage to continue, and what he said next was something she knew was coming but made her wince to hear regardless. 

“He’s… He’s not getting better, is he.” 

It was a statement, not a question. With a pang in her heart, she wondered how long it had taken for Riz to realize it—whether it was because of the night Pok’s headaches kept him awake, or the many, many slip-ups he’d made trying not to make his memory problems obvious, or even how much time he had spent flipping through papers in never-ending disappointment—or if it was just something he’d known the moment they’d walked through their apartment door, because although Riz had never tried to bring it up before there was no telling just how much he’d figured out by now. 

But then Sklonda realized that it didn’t really matter, because no matter how hard they tried it would never have been something they would’ve been able to hide, not even from themselves. They all knew Pok was never going to be the same. There was no coming back from this. And it hurt—it hurt so _fucking badly_ —but it was the truth, one that she would have given anything not to have to admit, and especially not to their son. 

She moved her gentle grip to Riz’s hand, waiting for when he glanced back to look her in the eye. “No. No, I- I don’t think so.” And then, quieter, “I’m sorry.” 

Riz went silent again. His expression didn’t change, but it was clear that she’d just confirmed something he’d desperately, desperately been hoping wasn’t true—because he didn’t _have_ to know every detail, or spend time in that hospital over those two weeks, for him to realize that things were going to change for the worse. He didn’t have to hear the brutal full diagnosis to fear, to worry, to have the thought of the consequences of Pok’s injuries in mind, and what would mean for the future—for _all_ of their futures. 

When Riz looked back up, he didn’t say any of the things she knew he was thinking. What he said instead was something _so_ much worse. “You could have told me. Maybe… Maybe I could have helped.” 

Sklonda shouldn’t have been surprised, but she couldn’t help but flinch at the sheer earnesty of his words. Riz treated everything like a problem to be solved—like something he could _do_ something about—so why would this be different, be any less fixable? But what _really_ hurt was seeing the tiny, tiny glimmer of hope in his eyes, the tentative optimism that reminded her that he was still just a kid, that said _why_ couldn’t _he just get better?_ And for a moment, there was absolutely nothing she could say. 

There was another pause, full of a thick, tense air that felt heavy to breathe. Then, she finally managed to choke out a soft “God, I… I wish it was that easy, kiddo,” Sklonda let out a sigh, long and slow. “But this isn’t something that just gets _fixed_. You can make it easier to deal with, you can be smart about it, but- It doesn’t go away.”

His expression was still as she forced herself to keep going. “It has nothing to do with whether or not you, or me, or Pok cares about making things better. It’s just… It’s just something that happened, and it’s not our fault. It’s not _your_ fault, okay?” She squeezed his hand gently, comfortingly, because after everything that had happened nothing would break her heart more than for Riz to believe even for a moment that he was somehow responsible for _any_ of this. “And- And I’m sorry I didn’t get to tell you sooner, but… It wasn’t my decision to make.” Her voice dropped ever quieter, in a weak attempt to hide how shaky it was becoming. “Dad’s been having a really hard time handling everything. He didn’t want anyone else worrying about him because he thought he’d be able to manage it better if he- if he just kept trying to take care of himself, you know? That’s why he didn’t want me telling you.” 

She hesitated briefly, the words being so relieving and so painful to say out loud at the exact same time. “He’s… He's just not used to needing help, honey. That’s all.”

It was only then that Riz finally spoke up again, his voice smaller than she’d ever heard it before. “Okay. Okay, I… I-I’m sorry.” He broke her gaze to stare down at the table, and she could feel the way his fingers quivered in her soft grip. 

“Riz, it’s… Oh, _please_ don’t apologize, honey,” Sklonda found herself standing up in a heartbeat upon hearing the tremble in his words, and before she knew it she had Riz in a tight hug as he clung to the coat still slung around her shoulders. She desperately wished she could tell him it was going to be alright, that maybe Pok wouldn’t have to lose his job and half his eyesight and hearing and memories, but she honestly wasn’t sure if she could handle another lie. She didn’t _want_ to lie to him. The past couple weeks had been hard in general, but having to keep calling her nine-year-old son—who really didn’t have many friends beyond his babysitter and his parents and had told the both of them every day since she’d left that he missed them—and try to leave out the details about how his dad had just barely survived getting mauled by a monster that was going to change _everything,_ certainly hadn’t made it better. 

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry,_ She pleaded silently as she pulled him ever closer. _I’ll tell you everything, someday. I promise._

“... Did he _really_ get in a car accident?”

But today wasn’t that day. 

So she gritted her teeth, spared one last fleeting glance at the door, and stood her ground. She sat Riz down and re-affirmed the story they’d cooked up on the drive home, adding lie after lie after lie until she could almost believe it herself. The one thing that kept her talking was the conviction that if he found out the truth _now,_ things would only get worse. “Extended leave” be damned—once you started being a spy, you never got to walk out. This wasn’t something they just told people, not even their own son, because he deserved the chance to grow up without the constant danger and worry hanging over his head. It had been something Pok had wanted, all the way back when Riz was born, and if she couldn’t get him his job back she could at _least_ do this for him. 

Riz was exhausted at this point, and he’d heard so much tonight, and by the time Sklonda decided he should probably be going back to bed he only had the energy for one last question. He’d glanced up at her, his hands still clinging to her coat, and softly, worriedly, asked “... But do you know how much he forgot?” In a way that didn’t actually mean _how much_ at all but _who._ It was a question he must have been waiting to ask ever since Pok had first slipped up, and now here he was—eyes full of apprehension for an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. 

And for the hundredth time she gave him a gentle, reassuring look back, because despite how much there was to be scared of now this was something she would always be able to say with certainty. “Kiddo, you _know_ he could never forget you.” 

He’d smiled, just barely, and when that hopeful smile stayed even when she went to kiss him goodnight she took comfort in the fact that it had at least meant _something._

* * *

For the first time in weeks, she was alone.

The apartment felt weirdly quiet without anyone else there—no sharp flipping of papers, no pitter-patter of pacing feet, no gentle creak of the couch. Sklonda had gotten used to almost always being around someone else by now, whether that meant being in Pok’s room back at the hospital, at her desk, or simply being at home with her family. Normally, it would have started to irritate her a long time ago, but she supposed that at this point it wasn’t like she could really be _relaxed_ anymore either. 

Sklonda had dropped Pok off at the Elmville hospital not too long ago to sort out prescription medication (he’d had to reassure her profusely with a dismissive scoff that he could handle a few forms, and that _honey, they’re gonna take one look at my face and realize I’m not there to steal painkillers, I’ll call you in thirty minutes when it’s over_ ). Riz was over at Penny’s house for the afternoon, because god knew he needed a distraction. Which left her alone at home, for once, on a cold and quiet Saturday that still didn’t feel right after everything that had happened. 

She’d decided to use the time she had to start pinning paper clippings to the wall of the office in an attempt to “organize her thoughts,” because there was no better a sign to show when someone was getting a little too deep than putting up a crime board. In fact, she’d been so engrossed with it, that she hadn’t noticed the soft, soft footsteps in the hallway outside that would have been imperceptible to anything but a goblin’s sharp ears. She didn’t even notice when they stopped.

And then a knock sounded on the door.

At first, she’d frozen for all but a second—and then everything became a flurry of activity. She sealed off the wall with one swift press of a button, trying not to make any hurried commotion as she did it. She crept toward the door, every movement tense. She hesitated one last time before composing herself (because it surely wasn’t weird to get someone at the door now when this was the first time she’d found herself alone in weeks, it _couldn’t_ be), clearing her throat, and opening it a crack. 

Everything immediately became so much more complicated. 

Standing on the other side, yellow eyes boring into her like knives, curled smile spreading across her face, was Kalina. 

“Hey there, Sklonda. How’s the family?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if,,, if I told you I'm not even halfway through the stuff I have planned would you believe me. fr though thank you sm for the support I've gotten so far on this it really makes me :)!!


	4. the coldest goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. this chapter is 18k words long. I truly cannot believe this this is just lowkey embarrassing now 😭 I WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HIT 50K THIS QUICK WTF..

For a moment, all Sklonda could do was stare. 

In all honesty, by now she’d almost forgotten about Kalina’s involvement in this. At first, it had seemed like the next big break, the next big lead, but then Pok was getting prescribed anticonvulsants and having to re-evaluate what recovery would look like and preparing himself to call some contacts for what would undoubtedly be a horrible conversation—and suddenly Kalina apparently showing up on the night of his seizure was just another fucked up detail in a sea of fucked up details that neither of them had the time to fully process. After Pok had been officially declared to be on “extended medical leave” from the Solisian secret service, she’d genuinely never thought she would ever see her again. 

And yet here she was—standing at her doorstep like absolutely nothing was wrong—and suddenly Sklonda felt very, _very_ uneasy. 

“... Kalina? What the hell are you _doing_ here?” Was the first thing out of her mouth, and she didn’t fully realize she was saying it until it was already too late. It hadn’t meant to be accusatory, but it wasn’t exactly normal for her to just show up like this either, and surely she _had_ to know that. 

If she noticed the pointed undertone, she didn’t react to it. Instead, she held up her paws as nonthreateningly as possible and said “Hey, I get it, this is pretty sudden of me—but I’m just here to talk to you. Is anyone else home?” Kalina peered out from the doorway to glance further into their apartment, which in all honesty was all she really needed to do to answer her question. 

Regardless, Sklonda stood her ground. “Well, I mean… Pok’s gonna be home soon, and- Why? What’s going on?” She kept her eyes fixed on Kalina, who seemed—if possible—even more relaxed than she’d been before in the handful of times she’d seen her. 

“Noted, noted. Anyway, I don’t mean to take up your time, Sklonda, I know you’re a _very_ busy woman,” Before she could even begin to respond, Kalina took a casual step forward. “But I think I have something you’re gonna want to hear.” 

For a moment, there was a deep, unreadable intensity in her gleaming eyes, until the eerie expression was suddenly replaced by what could almost be called a genuine smile. “Besides, when was the last time we got to sit down and talk?” 

(The answer was never, but she knew better than to say that out loud).

And then somehow, someway, Sklonda found herself stepping aside to let Kalina in. She couldn’t fully explain why even if she’d tried. Kalina had never once threatened their family—in fact, she’d helped them out on numerous occasions when she _really_ didn’t have to—and yet it was hard not to feel uneasy about her showing up out of the blue like this. Maybe it was the fact that they hadn’t heard from her in over a year now, maybe it was because of Pok’s affirmation from that night in the hospital that she still didn’t know what to make sense of. But the one thing she _did_ know was that, if Kalina really did have some idea of what was going on here, she would have been a fool not to take the opportunity. 

So she pulled a chair out from the table, took a seat, and gestured at the other side with as much politeness as she could muster. “It’s certainly been a long time, Kalina.”

“You know, I could say the same thing,” She sat down across the table hardly a moment later, flicking her tail idly as she glanced around the apartment. “I’ve been so busy lately. I _missed_ you guys, really! You’re almost like family to me.”

There was something so surreal about her just _being_ there—the fact alone that Kalina, mysterious spy extraordinaire, was sitting nonchalantly in her shitty old kitchen was hard to comprehend in itself, and that was made even harder by trying to figure out how she was supposed to be feeling about this in the first place. Sklonda hesitated, taking a second too long while trying to read into Kalina’s tone, and suddenly she was watching as her expression shifted ever so slightly in a show of unmistakable sympathy. 

“Oh- And speaking of family, how’s Pok holding up? I hear the poor guy hasn’t been doing so hot,” Kalina shook her head sadly, in what was probably the most serious she’d ever seen her. “You don’t have to explain it to me. I bet that’s all you’ve been doing the past couple weeks—no need to do it here. I already know.” 

It took every ounce of self-restraint in Sklonda not to immediately start questioning her. Instead, she managed a quiet “He’s doing better. He’s been doing a lot better,” tinged with a hint of defensiveness, keeping her words short and simple. There was really no way to tell just how much Kalina did or didn’t already know, and she wasn’t very keen to share all the gritty, gory details to Pok’s _work partner_ from the job he no longer had anyway. 

“Hey. I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Kalina laughed a little at that, despite everything. “It’d take a _lot_ to bring down Pok Gukgak.” 

There was a momentary pause in the conversation as a smile flickered over Kalina’s face, oddly assuring in a way Sklonda just couldn’t describe. “Alright, I get it. I’d love to keep catching up, but you and I both know that’s not what I came here for. So let’s cut to the chase, okay?”

And it was really only then that Sklonda began to question that herself—that not only did she have absolutely no idea what the hell Kalina was doing here, but she had no idea _why_ either _._ She could count the number of times she’d talked to her on one hand, and almost all of those instances had been pretty fleeting (save for once at a party hosted by one of Pok’s fellow agents that he’d all but begged her to come to). They hardly knew each other. _Sklonda_ hardly knew her. Pok had said good things about her in the past, but he hadn’t brought her up in at least a year. She genuinely couldn’t fathom why Kalina, even with her connection to Pok, would ever have a reason to come all the way to Elmville just to talk to her. 

“So I heard you were looking into what happened to Pok,” Meanwhile, Kalina had already launched into what Sklonda hoped was the explanation she’d waited so long for. The implication that she’d somehow already found out about her role in the investigation was something she didn’t have time to focus on. “Honestly, I’m glad. He’s _really_ lucky to have someone like you helping him out with this one—I’d imagine it would be pretty hard investigating with a hole in your head. Even the best spies have their limits, you know?” She said it so casually, so nonchalantly, that Sklonda was momentarily taken by surprise. 

It was what she said next, though, that _truly_ shocked her. 

“And I’m _sure_ you probably have this all under control, that you’re just inches away from finding the culprit… But I’ve been doing a little digging of my own. I want to _help_ you, Sklonda.”

For a second, all she could do was stare in genuine surprise. Then, in a hasty attempt not to appear too stunned in front of Kalina, she managed a soft “... I- I’m sorry, what?”

“I care a lot about Pok, you know. What, did you expect me _not_ to be concerned when I heard he’d almost gotten mauled to death by some monster in Bastion City?” If Kalina noticed the undeniable shock on her face, she didn’t show it. Instead, she just shook her head sadly with a long-suffered sigh. “I couldn’t just let whoever did that to him get _away_ with it.” 

As Sklonda stared at her, she watched as Kalina’s eyes darkened suddenly. She leaned in a little closer, a little bit unnervingly, and quietly said “I know a lot of powerful people—not just in Bastion City, not even just in Solace. You wanna find who did this? We’ll find them. But you have to trust me.” 

Deep down, she knew it all made sense. Kalina had known Pok for nearly eight years before he’d met Sklonda. They’d gone on daring missions together, risked death, done things even she couldn’t imagine herself doing. It would have been far weirder if they _weren’t_ close friends by now. She could remember nights when Pok had just come home from a months-long mission and would describe in hushed whispers the new insane illusion he’d seen Kalina do, about how he almost wished she’d been there to see it for herself. No problem had ever come up between any one of them. And yet, despite everything that said Sklonda had no reason not to trust her, she couldn’t bring herself to let her guard down just yet. 

“... I don’t doubt you, Kalina. I really appreciate the offer. But if you’ve got so much at your disposal, why not just… Solve it yourself?” It was a genuine question. Kalina’s track record as a spy was literally unparalleled. Sklonda didn’t doubt that, if she really wanted to, she could have easily found out whatever she’d needed well before the Bastion City precinct could even come close to getting a decent lead—although that wasn’t necessarily a high bar to surpass. 

“That’s a good question. You’re smart, you know that? I like that about you,” Kalina let out a little self-serving laugh. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been pretty busy back in Fallinel for the past couple months. Haven’t had a lot of time to myself up until now. Not like you, Sklonda,” She gestured sympathetically over to her, her ears flattening sadly against her head. “I bet you haven’t been able to stop thinking about this since Pok got attacked. I can’t imagine how _stressful_ it must have been.” 

“Well… I mean, it hasn’t been easy. That much is obvious,” It was a _painful_ understatement. Spending two weeks in the hospital, dealing with crushing setback after crushing setback, never being able to shake the worry that one day Pok’s condition would suddenly take a turn for the worse and all of the progress he’d made would be for nothing— _stressful_ didn’t even begin to cover it. But that wasn’t something Sklonda wanted to get into, and especially not with Kalina. 

And yet, at this point she couldn’t hold herself back anymore. After a moment of hesitance, Sklonda finally worked up the courage to say “Kalina, can I ask you something?” 

She blinked. “Sure, go ahead.” 

Sklonda felt her claws start to dig into the table. “... Pok told me you visited him in the hospital one night.” She didn’t have to make it a direct question for it to feel like an accusation, for it to sound suspicious, but she just couldn’t let it go. Over the past couple weeks, she’d seen Pok look uncertain and unsure and hesitant in a way she’d never seen him before—the night he’d spent alone, however, wasn’t one of those times. And in that moment, when he’d sunk down to what was probably the lowest he’d ever been, he’d desperately needed someone to believe him. For her, it hadn’t been a choice. 

And judging by the way Kalina’s eyes widened slightly, almost imperceptibly, he’d been right. “What, you didn’t believe him?”

Her words, so casual and innocent, made Sklonda pause, and that pause was all Kalina needed to decide to continue. “I’ll be honest with you, Sklonda. I did come to check on him when I first found out—I had to be discreet about it, of course. You know how it is,” She sighed softly. “But I think I must have surprised him or something, totally on me, because he seemed… Stressed. And I’d heard about him getting a little banged up, that he was pretty out of it, but _man_ was he agitated. I didn’t stay for very long. He _really_ needed the time alone.” 

They just stared at each other for a moment, until Sklonda could finally find the composure to speak again. “Kalina… Kalina, he had a _seizure_ later that night.” She could barely keep her words steady, and she desperately hoped that Kalina would understand the weight of that statement—that this had been fucking terrifying, that this had in part cost Pok his job, and that she had been oh-so-damningly the _last person to see him before this happened._

“Oh.” She was quiet at first, until she finally continued with a much more sympathetic “Oh- He _did?_ God, I’m _so_ sorry to hear that,” Kalina‘s voice had a surprising amount of shock in it. “I feel _terrible_ now for bringing it up. If I’d known, I would’ve clarified things earlier—Sklonda, you’ll have to forgive me,” There was another pause, this one heavy with regret, and Sklonda was about to begrudgingly say it was alright when Kalina suddenly lifted her head again. “Actually, speaking of Pok, there’s something I need to tell you before we go on.” 

She _immediately_ tensed. 

“I hate to say this, but I know that he’s in an… Uncertain place right now with the Solisian government. It doesn’t take a spy to realize that he’s been going through hell. The problem here is that Fallinel gets pretty strict with this kind of stuff, and if I help you, we need to keep it just between us—and I know what this looks like,” Kalina held up a paw to stop her before she could even think of protesting. “But not only is this something pretty out of line from, you know, an agent of Fallinel, I’m worried about Pok too. I’d hate to remind him of what he’s losing just by being around. You have to understand, Sklonda, the _last_ thing I’d want to do is get Pok hurt.” 

And then Sklonda was seconds away from countering with _no, actually, losing his job was the last thing on his mind when he was desperately trying to convince me he saw you that night,_ but at the last moment she reeled herself in. It was still _incredibly_ suspicious of her to show up like that, on the _one night_ Sklonda wasn’t there (because it wasn’t like the two of them didn’t know each other by now, and if she had really just been checking in, then there shouldn’t have been anything to hide in the first place), and then finally reappear almost two weeks later to say he should be left out of the investigation. Something was wrong. Something _had_ to be wrong, because there was no fucking _way_ Kalina would let Fallinel control her like that. And as much as she didn’t want to admit that Pok’s partner and, as far as she knew, trusted friend—as trustable as a spy could be—was hiding something about this, the cards certainly weren’t stacked in her favor. 

Sklonda was quickly realizing, however, that she was running out of options. Investigations back in Bastion City were turning up little evidence. There were no actual suspects. Even her own efforts had been roadblocked by the sheer amount of paperwork she had to go through to get _anywhere._ But she knew for a fact that Kalina had connections, that she had ways of finding things out, and that most importantly—unlike the overworked detectives four hours away—she had a real stake in the case. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter whether she trusted her or not. This was the only lead she had. 

If she didn’t take this now, they’d never be able to find her again. 

So, after a quick mental apology to Pok, Sklonda let out a sigh. “No, I- I understand. The last thing he needs right now is to get kicked while he’s down,” It took everything she had to get the words out through the guilty weight in her throat. “I could really use your help, Kalina.” 

She watched as a triumphant smile curled across Kalina’s face. “Then it’s a deal.” 

Suddenly, she stood up off the chair and reached out a paw for Sklonda to shake. “Meet me by the downtown bridge across the Marigold River tomorrow at three. We’re going to find who did this.” 

Her hand was in Kalina’s paw, and then she was just barely agreeing to the details of a meeting that had come all too fast to even begin to argue with, and then she was watching as Kalina turned to walk towards the door only to pause a moment later and turn back. “Oh, and Sklonda?”

“Yeah?” Sklonda said slowly, hesitantly, as the realization of what was going to happen next began to really sink in. 

“Say hi to Riz for me, will you?” Kalina didn’t lose her smile for a second. “I’m starting to really miss that kid. It’s been so long since I last saw him.” 

And then she was gone, and Sklonda was left to wonder what the _fuck_ she’d just gotten herself into.

* * *

She was still thinking about it thirty minutes later. 

For the first couple moments after Kalina left, Sklonda had stood frozen at the door—and then she’d taken a step back, then another, until she was pacing in circles for what felt like hours trying and failing to figure out what she was going to do. It had all happened so _fast,_ with Kalina showing up and talking about the investigation and acting just so casual, and it was only afterward that she realized she’d kept herself tense the entire time, that she’d stayed on the defensive only to immediately crack upon being offered help. She should have negotiated. She should have asked more questions. She should have-

Then her crystal had buzzed with a text from Pok, and the simple one-line message had been the only thing preventing her from spiraling any deeper. She’d stopped, taken a deep breath, and headed out of the apartment towards her car. 

St. Owens Memorial Hospital was a good distance away, a solid twenty-minute drive across the river into Elm Valley, and amidst the light traffic that cluttered the city streets Sklonda finally took the opportunity to _really_ think. Obviously, there was a lot to unpack about Kalina showing up, mostly hindered by the fact that she just didn’t know her as well as Pok did. Even with her explanation of everything she knew about what had happened to him, Sklonda still couldn’t find it in herself to put her guard down—in all honesty, it was mostly because she just couldn’t shake the night when she’d appeared at the hospital. Maybe it was irrational, maybe it was distrustful (and, frankly, she didn’t even know why Kalina would have ever wanted to hurt him in the first place), but she had trusted the conviction she’d seen in Pok’s eye the next morning. _Something_ had gone wrong. 

What that was was just about anyone’s guess. 

But that still didn't cover what the hell she was going to say to him once she picked him up. Kalina had told her to leave him out of it, and as much as Sklonda hated to admit it her concerns regarding his potential reaction weren’t exactly unfounded. Pretty much everything about the past few weeks had turned into a sore subject for Pok. She could tell he’d been trying to distract himself, by focusing on organizing the endless stacks of case files in his office, to catching up with Riz whenever he could, to making the most of the time he had now that he was stuck inside for the time being. It was the little things, though, that gave away the frustration she knew he had to be feeling—the tired look in his eye as he tried in vain to help make sense of the meager evidence Sklonda had managed to scrounge up from crime scene reports, or the soft sadness in his voice whenever he had to remind Riz to go easy on him or repeat something he’d said or to _speak up a little, kiddo, I can’t hear out of this side anymore._ She _more_ than understood Kalina not wanting to make that frustration worse (and especially not when the doctors had already tied his worst symptoms to getting too stressed). 

And yet, when Sklonda finally pulled up to the curb of the hospital’s parking lot to see Pok waiting, she found herself hesitating. 

Pok hadn’t been outside much lately, and it was surprising how much better he looked just by being out in the sun (albeit on a cold, bright day that would have left anyone shivering). He was leaning back on a bench in an attempt to relax and seemed to be genuinely engaged in reading some brochure he held in his hand, a tiny amused smile on his face that she could spot despite the shadow cast by the brim of his hat. It took a moment for him to spot her car, but when he did he shot her a quick wave and hurried over to where she’d parked. 

“They didn’t give you any trouble, right?” Was the first thing she asked upon him getting in. They’d joked a little beforehand over him having to even get screened for this despite… Everything, but she couldn’t help but let some genuine concern slip into her voice. It was hard not to, especially when this was technically the first time since his injury that he’d gone off and done something semi-normal (She _hated_ that she had to worry about that. She really, really hated that).

In response, Pok reached into the paper bag he’d been holding at his side to triumphantly hold up a little orange bottle that rattled in his hands. “I wish you could’ve seen the look on the receptionist’s face when they saw me come up to the desk.” Judging by the uncertainty that suddenly flickered in his expression, she wasn't the only one who had to think about it. She didn’t get the chance to ask, though, because he quickly tried to brush it off. “Yeah, it was fine. The doctor said this should probably last me the rest of my ‘recovery period’ as long as I’m not being stupid about it.” He scoffed slightly at his own words, the bitterness showing clearly in his voice. 

“... Hey, it’s- It’s not gonna be like this forever,” Sklonda said gently, despite the very real chance that it could. The medications they’d given him were undoubtedly making things better—but nothing had truly gone away. Pok still had to be cautious, because if he wasn’t being careful about bright lights and loud noises and stress levels he ran the risk of not being able to manage his injuries on his own anymore. She had already realized just how stubborn and self-reliant he was a _long_ time ago, and even the idea of him needing that kind of help was honestly terrifying. 

They fell silent for a moment, trying to find a way to move on from the sobering topic at hand. Finally, Pok cleared his throat and managed a softer, easier smile. “Well, uh, make any breakthroughs while I was gone?” 

Sklonda immediately felt a stab of guilt just _hearing_ him ask. She dug her claws into the steering wheel to keep any of it from showing on her face, choking out a “God, honey, I fucking _wish_ I did,” that earned a genuine, if not somewhat strained chuckle out of him. Briefly, she thought it had worked. 

And then she noticed Pok’s watchful gaze on her all too late, and despite the missing eye and memory problems she knew the one thing he’d never lost was his attention to detail. He looked her up and down, a glimpse of concern in his expression, and eventually he let out a quiet sigh and said “We can still talk about it if you want.” 

It was subtle, gentle, inviting, and it hurt in the worst way possible. Pok clearly knew something was going on, because when had something _not_ been going on these past few weeks, but there was more to those words than what met the eye. He knew they were stressed. He knew they were stressed _because_ of him. And above all else, he knew how many times they’d lied and said it was okay—she was well aware that Pok had seen her fight tears so many times by his bedside, and she’d seen the way he’d pretended not to notice Riz’s face falling whenever his injuries flared up again. 

In that moment, Sklonda didn’t give a fuck about what she’d promised Kalina. Pok hadn’t almost gotten killed for her to turn around and lie to him about something like this. 

“I… _Fuck,_ Pok,” Upon stopping at a traffic light, she took the opportunity to glance over and look him in the eye. “It was Kalina. She showed up today.” 

Pok froze. Any trace of care or kindness in his face immediately vanished, replaced by a cold, unreadable look that she recognized as the one he got whenever he was panicking and really, _really_ didn’t want anyone else to know (a reflex hard-wired into him by years upon years of maintaining lies and false identities). It clearly hadn’t been the answer he’d been expecting to hear, and it took a solid couple seconds for him to even respond. “... _What?”_

“She just waltzed in like nothing had happened,” Sklonda explained, her voice wavering a little (Was it in frustration? Worry? Defensiveness?). “We talked for a little while. Apparently she’s been trying to look into your case—also, yeah, she really did come see you that night in the hospital, you were right about that—and she… She offered to help me. She _wants_ to help me find who did it,” She hesitated, desperately wishing she didn’t have to include the kicker. “But she wants you out of it.” 

It was only then that his stony expression cracked. “I- That doesn’t make _any_ fucking sense,” Pok protested with so much conviction that even he himself looked surprised, and he had to take a moment to think as he fought and _fought_ to try and find where that confidence had even come from. “Why the hell would she want me to back out of my _own_ _assault case?”_

“I don’t _know,_ Pok, I have no fucking idea why she’s doing this. Kalina barely even _knows_ me,” She shot back tiredly, a little more bite slipping out than she’d intended. Things had just been starting to calm down after weeks of stress and uncertainty and being constantly on-edge, but Kalina reappearing had sparked that familiar agitation up again, now so close to boiling over. It wasn’t Pok’s fault. She really would’ve been more surprised if he _hadn’t_ gotten riled up—but _god_ was it getting harder and harder to stay level-headed these days. 

And he must have sensed it, because Pok didn’t speak up right away, instead opting to stare at her long and hard for what almost felt like way too long. Then, finally, he let out a quiet “You took her offer,” that wasn’t accusatory, wasn’t questioning, but made Sklonda feel guilty all the same. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” She admitted, keeping her eyes on the road ahead so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “And I- I didn’t want to, you _know_ I’d never want to agree to something like that. But Kalina is the only lead we have, and we’re running out of places to look, and-“

“It’s okay, Sklonda. I get it,” He cut her off gently before she could spiral deeper. “It was the right move. You don’t have to apologize, I… I probably would’ve done the same thing,” Pok managed a nervous smile, and she felt the tension slowly start to leave. “I just want you to be _careful_ , alright? I know you’re tough as hell, but I wish you didn’t have to do this alone.”

But despite all his attempts to act like he was okay with it, Sklonda still caught the flickers of disappointment in his expression that he’d been trying so hard to hide. Pok lived and breathed stuff like this, and being unable to help even from the sidelines must have been absolutely crushing—and the fact that this had used to come so easily to him, that he’d had to struggle to hold onto what he’d used to be so good at again and again and again was undoubtedly making the situation even worse. She knew better than to call him out on it right now, though. One painfully weighted conversation on a car ride home was disheartening enough. 

So instead, she just nodded and said “I’ll be fine. I can handle this,” She couldn’t tell if she was saying it to convince Pok or to convince herself, but either way it felt like a relief to finally say out loud. “Besides, I’ll definitely be keeping you in the loop. I won’t be _completely_ alone.”

His smile became a little more genuine. “I’ve probably got some files on Kalina back in my office,” He offered, before adding an affectionate “And hey, don’t sell yourself short with Kalina. I bet I boasted about you to her more times than I could count.”

“You better have,” Sklonda nudged him teasingly, letting herself breathe easy for the first time since Kalina had showed up that day. After a moment of shared laughter, she let herself glance over briefly to look at Pok— _really_ look at him—and, with a lot more softness, say “We can talk about this later tonight. I’ll remind you.” 

It was a small reassurance, and yet it was one he was willing to take. They didn’t bring it up for the rest of the afternoon, but Sklonda could feel the weight in her chest as she waited for what would inevitably be coming next.

* * *

The next day came all too quickly. 

After picking up Riz from the Luckstone’s house and scrounging up something for dinner, they took a look through Pok’s office that night for anything on Kalina—but there was really only so much they could do. Mentions of her on any of his files were pretty fleeting and didn’t tell them much more than what they already knew ( _shockingly, spies really aren’t that big on writing diaries,_ he’d griped after running through another case file full of a frustrating amount of shorthand). It was made a lot worse by the fact that Pok was still having trouble remembering Kalina in the first place. He’d managed to bring up a couple missions they’d gone on together, an agency party she’d come to, and a general outline of what she was like, but after that his recollections had tapered off significantly. Pok couldn’t remember a single thing she’d done in at _least_ the past year or so. 

Eventually, they’d taken a step back. Sklonda couldn’t tell which one of them was more stressed by this, but at some point she found herself stepping in on both of their behalf with _hey, we’re just going to talk. It’s not like she asked me to start hunting people down with her,_ and he’d laughed in that weak, hesitant way that told her he wasn’t convinced in the slightest. 

The next afternoon felt all too hectic and and all too routine at the exact same time. She had organized her work on the case and helped Riz out with his homework that he’d been stubbornly stuck on and had had to make sure Pok didn’t accidentally forget to take the toast out of the toaster (to his credit, he’d never been a fantastic cook)—and then suddenly it was two-thirty, and waiting was no longer an option _._ So with a sigh, and another nervous glance-over of her briefcase, Sklonda had steeled herself one final time and headed for the door. 

“I’ll see you in a bit, kiddo. I’m gonna be out for a little while, I’ve got an errand to run,” She stopped briefly to ruffle Riz’s hair from where he sat perched on the floor, half-complete jigsaw puzzle in front of him with Pok watching intently on the other side. The two of them had been working on it for the past fifteen minutes now, and although she suspected Pok was intentionally going slower so that Riz could have the satisfaction of figuring most of it out, just seeing them together felt like the silver lining they’d been waiting so long for. After coming somewhat clean to Riz a couple days ago, Sklonda had noticed Pok genuinely easing up around him—that he was worrying less and less about hiding the extent of his injuries, that he was no longer trying to skirt around taking medication and writing notes in front of him. He really looked like he’d stopped holding himself back. 

She didn’t know how he’d found out, or if it had been the change in Riz that had tipped him off, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care about the specifics. Seeing him act like a dad again was a relief enough.

“Oh- Bye, mom,” Riz had chirped back, not taking his eyes off the puzzle but making an attempt to wave her goodbye regardless. He was so engaged with finding the next piece that he didn’t notice the way Pok’s expression darkened across from him, his body having gone still with apprehension. She knew just how much it was killing him to have to sit this one out, and suddenly for a moment she was worried that, despite how hard he’d worked not to show it, the lingering frustration was going to get the better of him this time.

But then he passed Riz a piece he was missing with a soft _here, I think this one goes on the right,_ before glancing up to give her a mock-salute that, for the first time since yesterday, was completely genuine. “Knock em’ dead, honey.”

There was a glimmer of trust in his eye, and she let herself steady her grip on her own confidence. “Hey, let’s hope I don’t have to. I’ll see you two later.” 

And with that, she was heading out the door, down the stairs, and driving down the city streets towards the Marigold River bridge. 

Sklonda had questioned Kalina’s choice of meeting place over and over again, and the best rationale she’d been able to come up with was that it was quiet, secluded, and once you really got down to the riverside by the crumbling benches and dying trees it was pretty doubtful that anyone would bother you—especially considering the cold weather that was quickly signaling winter’s approach. They’d probably be completely alone. She still wasn’t sure if that fact concerned or reassured her. 

At this point, though, she’d felt so much dread and choked down so much stress that she almost didn’t have the energy to work herself up anymore about what Kalina might or might not have to say. Last night had been a planning session, one that despite how little information they really had had at least let them get their thoughts in order. They were as ready as they’d ever be.

Besides, Kalina had been a friend to Pok for years. Even if she’d done… Questionable things as of late, even if they could never tell what she really wanted, that _had_ to mean something.

She didn’t know what she’d expected upon finally finding a place to park her car (on a sidestreet two blocks away, which in downtown Elmville was honestly the best you could get) and taking the brisk walk down to the edge of the river, but it certainly wasn’t Kalina already there, already waiting at a park table mostly hidden behind a cluster of dead trees that she’d hardly been able to spot in the first place. As soon as Sklonda had stepped into view, Kalina had immediately gotten to her feet and waved her over with a cheery smile that seemed completely at odds with the grim investigation they were just about to work on. 

“Always on time, huh?” She pretended to check the watch she didn’t have as Sklonda slowly took a seat on the other side of the cold, stony table. Kalina was wearing a thick black coat and scarf, and resting on the table was a file only held down by a couple of her claws. “Glad you could make it, Sklonda.” 

“It’s not a big deal,” Sklonda said quietly as she kept a tight grip on her own briefcase, not quite ready to set it down on the table yet. “And this is important to me. I wouldn’t have missed it.” She narrowed her eyes a little at Kalina—not threateningly (at least, she _hoped_ it wasn’t threatening. It was hard not to look constantly threatening when you had a goblin’s sharp yellow eyes), just serious enough to the point where it was clear she was here on business and business alone. 

If Kalina was in any way surprised by it, she once again seemed completely unaffected. “I get it, I get it. Let’s not waste time then, alright?” However, before she could start leafing through the case file in front of her, she suddenly paused as an expression that could almost be described as soft flickered over her face. “But I gotta say, thanks again for keeping this between the two of us. I know it _couldn’t_ have been easy, and I promise we’ll work everything out once this is all wrapped up. We’re doing this for Pok, aren’t we? He would understand.”

She smiled warmly, and it took Sklonda every last fiber of restraint in her body not to say _something_ in reaction _._ “Yeah. Of course,” Clearing her throat in an attempt to change the subject, she briefly gestured at Kalina’s file. “Uh, can we?...”

Kalina leaned back a little in an almost infuriating show of casualness. “Heh. It’s always clues first with the Gukgaks, isn’t it?” Instead of opening up her own notes, however, she eyed Sklonda’s briefcase with a curious twitch of her whiskers. “You wouldn’t mind telling me what you already know, would you? I want to know what I’m working with.” 

It wasn’t the question Sklonda had expected her to open with, but there wasn’t really any point in not going along with it. After a moment of hesitation, she reluctantly cracked open her briefcase and started explaining what she knew—that Pok had gotten attacked on an early November night in the Bastion City harbors, somehow gotten away despite the truly horrific mauling he’d become a victim of, and had collapsed in an alleyway a couple blocks down. He’d gotten _terrifyingly_ close to bleeding to death before anyone could even find him. By the time the dust had settled, the original crime scene had been found to have been scrubbed clean of crucial evidence (whether that was intentional or not was still up for debate, but she was willing to place her bets on the side of guilt), and the investigation had only gone downhill from there. There were no witnesses, no footage of any kind that they could get the permissions for, and not a scrap of even _circumstantial_ evidence to build a profile for what kind of sick fucker would maul a man like an animal in a back alley. Maybe the biggest kicker of it all was that, despite having pulled through against the odds, Pok couldn’t remember a damn thing about the past few _months,_ let _alone_ who or what had attacked him. 

By now, she’d recounted the story so many times that she could say it without her voice wavering (although she still had to take a moment to steel herself whenever she had to get into the gruesome details of Pok’s injuries, which had never once stopped reminding her that, although he was absolutely in bad shape, it could have been _so much worse_ ). She started letting herself get into the finer aspects of what she’d managed to put together—like the dimensions of the tooth and claw marks left on him after the fact, which along with the confirmation that magic almost certainly wasn’t involved were pretty much the only concrete things she had when trying to visualize the attacker. When you put it all together, it sounded like a lot, but considering just how little progress anyone had been able to make on the case it was more disheartening than anything else. 

Kalina didn’t interrupt her once as she listened with a sudden intentness that Sklonda had never seen before. From the scant few times they’d met, she had always been, if nothing else, charismatic and friendly and down-to-earth that had never seemed to fit the image of Fallinel’s most terrifying spy (although, to be fair, Pok had been a lot kinder than his flashy persona had suggested at first glance). According to him, even when she was in the middle of a heated mission she never seemed to lose her cool, casual demeanor. Now, though, her eyes were narrowed into thoughtful yellow slits that burned into her like lasers. For the first time, Kalina looked _serious._

And Sklonda had no idea what that meant.

“Wow, Sklonda. You’ve been putting a lot of work into this,” When Kalina finally spoke up again, there was an impressed note in her voice that, despite everything, felt like a relief to hear. “Hey, well, you covered most of the points I already had—so let me try and fill in some of the gaps for you.” 

Disappointingly, she pushed the file that had been pinned under her claws to the edge of the table. Kalina glanced from side to side for a moment before leaning in like she was letting her in on a massive secret. “I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t have a lot in terms of suspects. Or leads. Which, you know, isn’t _really_ your fault,” She shrugged a little as she said it. “But as someone who’s been in this business a while, I can say this for certain. This wasn’t an attack on his identity. Not by a _long_ shot.” 

Before Sklonda could even begin to say anything in response, Kalina kept going. “I know, I know, it’s a pretty big claim to make. But you gotta _think,_ Sklonda,” She cocked her head to the side for emphasis. “If you’re trying to kill an agent, you want it to be fast and clean—what happened to Pok was anything but that. You shoot him in the head once and be done with it, not try to eat him alive.” Kalina waved her paw like what she’d just said wasn’t genuinely horrifying. “No assassin in the world would go through the trouble. And especially not alone. Because, let’s face it, even Pok wouldn’t have been able to get out of that situation alive if there was more than one of them.”

And Sklonda had to admit that what she was saying made _sense._ The idea of Pok being targeted for being a Solisian agent was a likely one, a probable one even, and yet she’d never tried to chase the thought down too far. Trying to wrangle the Bastion City precinct into cooperating was hard enough, but she couldn’t _imagine_ how much of a struggle it would be to get through the bureaucracy of the Solisian secret service. Besides, the idea that there was an _active assassin_ out there who had tried to murder her husband—who was still very hurt, still very out of it, and still recovering from things like shattered ribs and hypovolemic shock—was a terrifying, paranoia-inducing thought, and most nights she’d opted to just stay at his bedside instead of chasing answers that might not exist. At the end of the day, she still would have rather had him safe for _sure_ than solve the case.

“... How can you know that for sure?” Was what she finally went with as a response, after having taken a moment to think over Kalina’s reasoning. “He’s made a _lot_ of enemies. And he knows Bastion City like the back of his hand, he would never have gotten tripped up like that unless it was something big.” Sklonda hesitated suddenly, unsure over just how much information she should be forking over this early in the game, but eventually she bit the bullet and continued on. “Besides, the guys in Pok’s department are working on the case. I’d like to think that they would at _least_ be able to confirm if something like that was true or not.” 

Kalina gave her a look that wasn’t pitying, exactly, but it wasn’t very reassuring either. “Between the two of us, let’s just say that Pok was pretty up there when it came to Solisian agents,” A sad smile flickered across her face, if only for a moment. “They’ll miss him for sure. He loved the job more than anything in the world—he really was one of a kind.” 

The use of past tense made her skin prickle, and yet Sklonda couldn’t exactly say much in either party’s defense. After all, the Solisian secret service had been struggling just as much as everyone else when it came to solving this fucking case—and they were the ones with the full government funding. But when she thought about Pok himself, how he’d worked so hard and yet lost so much in a heartbeat once he was no longer useful, the words came easily. “He still is, you know.” 

Her smile got sadder. “Of course. Of course.”

As they went on talking and debating and sharing the precious few documents that they had, Sklonda found herself slowly but surely starting to relax. It felt tense, sure, but Kalina was acting shockingly understanding, never once interrupting her when she faltered upon having to relay something gruesome. And Kalina was _smart._ She was insanely smart and she knew exactly what she was talking about and for the first time since getting that call she felt like she was _doing something._ That for the first time, she wasn’t being sidelined by all the other detectives and agents and authorities on the case that she’d reached out to as some distraught, desperate woman too worked up over her husband’s injury to see reason. 

She still didn’t fully trust Kalina, not yet. But they were getting somewhere. 

When the sky turned dark and the wind picked up even further, they called it for the day. Sklonda had packed up her briefcase while Kalina made the decision to meet up again—same time, same place (to which she’d jokingly responded with _I thought spies were all about secrecy,_ and Kalina had just laughed and said _I’m sure you’ve gone through enough of that with Pok_ ). According to her, this first little meeting was just to test the waters. Next time, they _really_ got down to business. Sklonda walked away that evening feeling better about the investigation than she’d had in weeks. 

And then they did it again, and again, and again. 

In the days that followed, things had started to fall into a predictable rhythm—look into what Kalina had suggested in her spare time, meet up with her again whenever she could, fill Pok in on whatever they did, rinse and repeat. Kalina had been right about her connections, and with her help they were breezing through the mountains of paperwork and bureaucracy that had been bogging down Sklonda’s original efforts. Piece by piece, things began to fall ever closer to being in place. 

They hit their first big break not a week later.

It had been Sklonda’s idea to trying looking at nearby security camera footage, because the harbors were full of storage units and warehouses and even more full of crime, but it was Kalina who was able to get favors from a local warehouse owner and get them access to some camera footage from that night (or at least that’s what she told her—frankly, Sklonda highly doubted anyone would’ve have been able to stop her from just walking in and taking it). The only reason nobody had managed to look into it earlier was because of just how touchy those goddamn harbor businessmen got about their property. So when Kalina had handed a tape over one chilly afternoon with a triumphant look on her face that said _this is something you’re gonna want to see,_ she immediately knew that everything she’d done, everything _they’d_ done, had been worth it. 

Playing it back revealed a grainy, blurred, black-and-white record of a dark alleyway nestled between two warehouses. The camera quality was undoubtedly terrible, and the fact that this had happened at night made it so much worse, but every complaint she could have had washed away at the sight of a shadowy figure creeping, then walking, then running down the alley not three blocks away from where Pok had gotten attacked. But she didn’t even have to bother with speculation, because trailing behind the figure were thick, dark splatters that dripped off their barely visible face and claws and tail. Blood. A _lot_ of it. 

At that moment Sklonda couldn’t have given less of a fuck that the figure was far too grainy to identify properly, or that the camera quality was just shit in general, or that this was by no means the end of the road. After so many sleepless nights spent scouring the same four details for new clues, she was suddenly shocked back into the reality that whoever did this was _real,_ that they weren’t some ghost or demon or shapeless creature with a meaningless motive. The culprit was a _person_ , and people could be _found_ , and for the first time in the weeks spent putting all of her energy into solving this damn case she felt like a fire had been lit inside her. 

_Holy shit- Holy_ shit, _Kalina, I can’t believe this,_ She’d found herself saying as she rewound the recording over and over and over again, wanting to commit every last fuzzy detail to memory. _You did it. You actually fucking did it._ And then she’d reached out to put an excited hand on Kalina’s shoulder without thinking, only to end up staring into a far more thoughtful expression than what she’d been expecting. Kalina had said something along the lines of _feels good, doesn’t it?_ that quickly turned prideful, and the quiet look suddenly split into the grin Sklonda was starting to recognize so well. It was still far too early to say they’d done it—but god, did it feel like they did. 

Kalina had opted to keep the evidence on her, which Sklonda had reluctantly agreed to. On one hand, that meant she wouldn’t get to show it to Pok, but on the other she _was_ the one who was getting most of it in the first place. So they started looking through databases, anything that followed their basic outline that was getting filled out more and more each day they worked together—medium class creature, approximately six to seven feet tall, reptilian, affinity for mauling people. And the real kicker was that, despite all of her worries, it had gone off without a hitch. She and Kalina had been collaborating for at least a week or two now and, minus some minor arguments, had never had any huge issues. Despite everything, despite the things that she still just couldn’t pin down about Kalina’s stake in this, Sklonda felt herself letting her guard down. 

And then Kalina came up with a suspect. 

* * *

Frankly, she was still a little surprised by just how easy it was to tell the Gukgaks exactly what they wanted to hear. 

Kalina had to admit that, in retrospect, she’d been a bit biased in her judgments. For a while, she’d believed that Pok had been the suspectible one, and in all honestly she was still right—they’d worked on-and-off together for almost a decade and a half, and yet only _now_ had he finally started getting wise to what was really going on. Riz, obviously, ate up anything his parents told him. But there had been a time when she’d genuinely thought that Sklonda was the stubborn, skeptical one of the family, that it wouldn’t be worth the time and effort spent trying to earn her trust for real. 

So, when she’d seen the way Sklonda’s eyes had lit up in barely hidden desperation the moment she’d even started talking about leads, it had been a _very_ welcome surprise. 

It had been a very surprising month for Kalina in general. Obviously, things were never supposed to go this way in the first place. She’d had it all planned out, gone through _so_ much trouble—Pok was supposed to die. Goldenhoard was supposed to be her next big point of access. It was supposed to be clean, swift, and conclusive. Until it wasn’t.

And now she was in a very interesting predicament, where things had gone so wrong yet so right at the exact same time. She didn’t know how, exactly, that Pok had managed to worm his way out of what was quite literally the jaws of death, but what she _had_ seen was the way he’d fired his gun the exact moment Goldenhoard _really_ started biting down, how he’d scrambled off into the night as his blood stained the harbor streets. And then he’d had to go and get taken to a hospital, and _keep living_ despite everything—by then, though, his luck had long since run out. Pok Gukgak would be going home after all, but not as the man his family remembered. He was no longer a threat, and he never would be again. 

But Sklonda was. 

Not in a major way, though. She was more like a thorn in Kalina’s side, a blip in the radar of just how much was going to unfold. Sklonda was smart, and the level of dedication she’d displayed towards her husband in these past few weeks was genuinely shocking. She’d seen Pok make a lot of hotheaded decisions over the years—but she wasn’t one of them, and in all honesty she was still a little surprised that he’d managed to keep this up for so long, that a person like him could ever even _have_ a family. Now, though, that devotion had become a problem. And while she could let Sklonda run her course, try and fail to solve the investigation that KVX corporate and its associates had already long since succeeded in covering up, Kalina was _close_ now. With Goldenhoard in her connections, she was closer to the crown than she’d ever been before, and if she had to step in to ensure that then so be it. 

Besides, she always got a kick out of fucking with the Gukgaks.

So that night, when she stepped out of the shadows in a grimy Bastion City bar and sidled up to a hulking crocodilian lizardfolk in the corner, she once again got to realize something important—that there was a little potential inside of everyone, that anyone could be a pawn in the game, and that she _knew_ she’d had to have lost one of her most prized Fallinel contacts to this brute for a reason. 

“ _Morrison!_ Hey, you remember that _favor_ you owe me? It’s about time you paid up.”

She couldn’t wait to see the look on Sklonda’s face.

* * *

“Morrison Barringer.”

Sklonda looked up briefly from the file that had just been slapped onto the table to stare at Kalina, who had an expression that could really only be defined as _smug._ It had barely been a day or two since she’d uncovered that camera footage, and while she had promised to start looking into criminal records it still seemed a little… _Early_ for something like this. 

As she glanced back down at the attached photo of a grim, crocodilian face edged with torn green fins, Kalina kept going. “Thirty-six year old lizardfolk, lives down in the harbors area. He’s a _serial predator_ , Sklonda, the guy eats people for a living.” Her words were weirdly reminiscent of the self-absorbed ramblings she often heard from some of her younger coworkers, and yet Kalina sounded so sure of herself that Sklonda couldn’t help but listen intently. “Who’s to say he doesn’t have a taste for goblin? Apparently, he’s big on targeting people he knows he can pick on.” 

Kalina tapped a bullet point on Morrison’s file, and sure enough there was a note that read _primarily targets creatures of size category small or lower._ It was a pretty damning detail, but Sklonda still narrowed her eyes at Kalina and cautiously said “That’s no guarantee, though. Like, if we attributed _every_ murder to a known serial killer, we’d never get anywhere. You’d be surprised just how often that kind of shit happens.” 

“Nothing ever gets past you, does it?” If anything, Kalina started looking even _more_ confident upon hearing her rebuttal. “You’re right, you’re right. But you have to admit, the demographics really do add up—reptilian, six foot eight, lives in the area, is known entirely for the fact that he likes to maul people… Hey, it’s totally possible that he’s not the guy we’re looking for. Until we find someone else who regularly takes bites out of other people, though, I think this is as good a place to start as any.” As she finished her spiel, a triumphant smile flickered across her face that, despite everything, felt genuinely encouraging to see. 

Because, like a lot of things Kalina had suggested over the past few days, she certainly wasn’t _wrong_ in any sense of the word _._ The longer Sklonda looked at Morrison Barringer’s shadowed face, the more uneasy she felt. It was kind of hard to come to terms with the fact that right now there was a genuine chance she was staring into the eyes of the man who had nearly killed her husband. She’d honestly fantasized about it once or twice, about finally being able to track down the fucker responsible and at least give Pok a little justice, to at least give _some_ meaning to everything they’d gone through, but now that she was potentially putting a face to it she couldn’t deny the shiver of apprehension that ran through her body. It had been easier when she didn’t have to imagine the sight of someone literally tearing Pok to pieces. 

Although she’d still been doing her own research into the case, with Kalina assisting in reaching out to find leads and potential evidence the workload had been relegated a little, and for the first time in a while she wasn’t staying up late pouring over the same files again and again and again. Instead, she was using that time to catch Pok up on everything she was telling her. While he was still pretty noticeably bitter over being left out—one of the reasons Sklonda could never get herself to _fully_ trust Kalina, not even now—he was more than willing to try and help break down what they were finding out. For the most part he couldn’t remember much more than what she already knew, but occasionally he’d be able to shed some light on Kalina (that yeah, she really did have that many connections in Bastion City and god knows where else, and that he could very vaguely recall some kind of dropoff in a harbor warehouse that he _guessed_ might be where she’d gotten the idea for camera footage? It was hard to know for sure). All in all, it was at least making things feel a little more normal around the apartment. Staying up late and helping each other out on their respective cases was something that had always been a household staple, even if it looked a little different now than it used to. 

“Do you see any fins in this shot, or is it just me?” Kalina’s voice shook her out of her own thoughts as she held up a photograph still of the camera footage for her to look at again. One of the other weird things about Kalina was that she held on to pretty much every piece of evidence she’d brought to the table, to the point of it starting to stand out—even the _Elmville precinct_ had a functioning copy machine. When Sklonda had asked, she’d just winked and said _we’re keeping this between us, remember?_ that had both alleviated and worsened her concerns at the exact same time. 

Obviously, the security camera footage was a grainy mess when it came to details, so she ended up just shrugging noncommittally in response. “This guy could have _wings_ and you wouldn’t be able to see it,” Sklonda chuckled dryly. “I can make some calls tonight, though. Check through some of the databases back in my office.” 

As she said it, an almost eerie light flickered momentarily in Kalina’s eyes. “Honestly, Sklonda, I could probably have Morrison in and questioned by tomorrow morning if you really wanted it. I know just how hard you’ve been working on this case. Must be exciting to think we’re finally getting closer.” Her whiskers twitched slightly, and she fingered the photograph again with a look on her face that Sklonda just couldn’t decipher. 

And she wouldn’t lie and say that she _didn’t_ feel a sort of heated, angry drive to keep going, to keep pushing herself to stay up longer and argue over the crystal for hours on end even when Pok worriedly asked her to take a break—something that she would have waved off as laughably hypocritical if not for the genuine concern in his expression. While it was as good a fuel as any, Sklonda still had to rein herself in from time to time so she didn’t do something she regretted. Even if she wanted to make a call, that didn’t mean it was the right one. “I, uh, appreciate the offer, Kalina, but we really don’t want to take the wrong shot here. We’ve still got a _lot_ of work to do.” 

Kalina stared at her for another moment before shrugging as well. “Of course. Just letting you know that it’s your call.” 

The sun was already going down, and with it came the chilly winds that seemed to only get colder by the day. They started packing up not long after with the promises of making calls and looking more into their new lead before finding a time to meet up again. Sklonda was in the middle of putting her ever-growing stack of files back in her briefcase when, all of a sudden, Kalina glanced up to meet her eye. “How’s the kid handling all of this? I feel like I haven’t heard much about him lately.” 

Her voice was curious, harmlessly intrigued, but Sklonda found herself pausing. “He’s doing fine,” She said after a moment, her words still as vaguely cautious as the first time Kalina had asked her this question, over about a week ago. “It obviously hasn’t been easy for _any_ of us, exactly, but... He’s been spending a lot of time with Pok. I guess it’s just nice to see them hanging out together.” It was true—for every awful fucking thing that had happened as of late, coming home to Riz and Pok messing with each other was something that had never gotten old. For Riz, he was getting to spend as much time as he wanted with someone whose presence was always tinged with an undercurrent of uncertainty, and for Pok it was probably the only thing keeping him from spiraling into a depression while still being stuck at home. 

She nodded slowly in response, her eyes narrowing slightly. In a quiet voice that chilled her to the bone, Kalina asked “... Do you think he knows just how lucky he is that Pok came home?” 

There was something about the way she said it that had her digging her claws into the park table. Sklonda tried hard not to think about that first day, when she’d tried and failed to mentally prepare herself for the genuine possibility that she might have to come home to Riz alone, despondent, and undoubtedly in tears. She had to take a slow, deep breath to keep herself steady. “Hell if I know. Riz is a smart kid, I’m sure he’s put the pieces together by now.” 

“I get it, I get it.” Kalina finally broke her pinning eye contact to grab her little stack of papers and files, holding them at her side in what was probably the least covert way possible. “Well, I hear he’s a pretty tough kid. He’ll be alright, I’m sure of it.” 

And then, with a flick of her tail and a friendly little wave goodbye, she was gone. 

* * *

Whenever she got home from one of their meetings, it always took Sklonda a moment to truly shake her focus from Kalina herself to the task at hand. Maybe it was how increasingly difficult it was to even find time to meet up with her now, or maybe it was the way she still couldn’t figure her out fully (and probably never would, to be honest) but it really just felt like an extension of the case that she never seemed to stop working on these days. Which, by all means, was great—she’d probably made more progress in the past week or so with Kalina’s help than she’d made in all her other efforts combined—up until she realized just how jarring the inevitable disruptions could be after having worked on it for so long. 

Case in point, Pok walking up behind her not long after she’d taken a seat at the table. 

Besides the warm greetings that always followed when she walked through the door for the first time, making sure they hadn’t done anything stupid in her absence, and helping get something together for dinner, Sklonda had mostly resigned herself to sitting down at the table and getting back to business as soon as she got home—today, that probably meant digging through mountains of old case files in search of the contact information for some recognizable Bastion City official, who could then direct her towards a database or something along those lines to get information out of. The amount of paperwork required to do pretty much anything in an investigation was a constant that, despite all the fancy magic that made hunting for clues seem so _easy_ , never stopped coming. 

The last she’d seen her husband, he had been watching over Riz’s shoulder as he leafed through a torn-up old library book that, judging by the minute flickers of genuine surprise and confusion in Pok’s face every couple of pages that he turned, was not sticking for him plotwise whatsoever (she suspected he was keeping quiet about it as not to make Riz feel like he had to read slower for his sake). It was the kind of thing that felt soft but solemn, sweet but somber in just how quickly they were all getting used to the ever-present weight of Pok’s injuries—whether it was giving him a moment to scribble down a reminder for himself in the middle of a conversation or quietly leaving the lights off whenever he was stretched out on the couch trying to get over another headache. She could tell by the way he always winced every time they did so that he desperately wished they didn’t have to. 

Now, though, he’d come over to rest a hand on the back of her chair. “So, what are we working on?” Pok’s voice was down to a whisper as he eyed the mess on the table, before stealing a glance back to where Riz was finishing up the final chapters of his book. It was really kind of pointless to try and stay quiet about what they were talking about when Riz was around, because a goblin’s sharp hearing was good enough in itself to listen in with ease, but they could also reliably bank on him being too absorbed in what he was doing to notice. As such, she watched Pok’s expression darken a little as he followed up with the question he’d clearly been dying to ask all afternoon. “... And what’d _she_ say this time?”

Sklonda hesitated for a moment, just long enough for him to notice and make the decision to take a seat at the other end of the table, sighing patiently. She quickly glanced between Pok and Riz and back again before finally steeling herself enough to say “You ever heard of a guy named Morrison Barringer?”

Unsurprisingly, he shook his head without even having to pause to think about it, and Sklonda pulled out her crystal to show him what was essentially Morrison’s wanted poster—one of the first things she’d done upon getting the time to think about this for herself was search up Morrison online, which hadn’t led to much except for some sort of community watch site from a couple years ago putting up generic warnings for the harbor district area. It didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know, but that wasn’t the point. What she _really_ wanted to see was how Pok reacted to it, because although it was a longshot looking at pictures _had_ been enough to jog his memory on occasion. 

But, after he stared down at the crystal screen for a couple moments, it became clear that this wasn’t going to be one of those times. “She doesn’t think _that’s_ the person who did it, does she?” Pok scoffed, crossing his arms skeptically. “Just some guy in Bastion City? That’s the best she could come up with? She _has_ to know me better than that.” 

There was a weirdly charged undercurrent to his words, half laughter and half genuine bitterness. As far as Sklonda knew, Pok had never had any major problems with Kalina, and he barely even remembered their supposed altercation in the hospital, but ever since he’d found out that she didn’t want him involved in the case something had changed. With every meeting she came home from, with every hushed explanation over Kalina’s latest efforts, Pok seemed to get more and more frustrated with just how little they were able to find out about _her._ As much as she hated to admit it, Kalina had sort of been right all along—he really _had_ gotten so much more stressed out ever since she’d come back into their lives.

It was hard to see him like that. For everything she’d managed to learn by working with Kalina, the disappointment—the disappointment in _himself_ —that she kept seeing in Pok over and over and over again was one of the only things she regretted. 

“I don’t know. She seemed pretty set on this being the guy, to be honest,” Sklonda stared down at the array of files scattered across the table for a moment before burying her face in her hand, sighing loudly. “And it makes enough sense to be worth looking into, but… God. It’s still just so hard to believe.” 

And when she looked back up at Pok, into his tired expression sliced through with jagged scars that were only just now starting to fade to a pale green, she knew that he himself hardly believed it either. Although she’d always worried about him to some degree whenever he was away, it had never truly sunk in until now that something like this could have ever happened to him—that it didn’t matter how clever or quick or good he was, because all it took was one wrong move to end everything. It was a fucking _miracle_ that wrong move hadn’t taken his life too. 

She didn’t say any of that, though. The last thing she wanted was to insinuate that any of this was his fault, because it _wasn’t,_ and honestly being told that would probably be the final straw for the composed front he’d been trying so hard to hold onto. Instead, she kept quiet, until finally Pok cleared his throat and softly asked “... Alright. What do you need me to do?” 

Despite everything, Sklonda felt herself relaxing slightly. “Right now, I’m just starting with the basics. If you could help me look through some of these files for the contact info of anyone back in Bastion City that could help us—like that lead detective, Cynthia, or a captain, or one of the forensics guys, that- That would be great. That would really be great.” She swallowed hard, and even though her voice shook a little when she spoke next she still wasn’t sure that it showed the full weight of what this meant to her. “Thank you, Pok.” 

“Hey, and let you get all the action? You’d better believe I want to help.” Sklonda watched as he bit down the last of the lingering anger, the guilt, the disappointment that he had _every_ right to feel after what had happened to him—and instead of taking it out on her, a reassuring smile flickered across his face instead. “Let’s get into this.”

(Even if that meant staying up late again, pouring through files again, and having to gently remind Pok what they were looking for again, she wouldn’t have traded it in for a single one of Kalina’s lofty promises).

She knew she could trust Pok. At the end of the day, that was all she needed.

* * *

Something wasn’t right.

If Sklonda was being honest with herself, there had been a consistent undertone of something being _not right_ the moment Kalina had showed up for the first time, but there was something much more _not right_ than usual this time around. She’d done the research, made the calls, and listened to everything Kalina had had to say, and yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were taking the wrong shot. That something was _seriously_ wrong with Morrison Barringer.

It wasn’t that he ate people, obviously. It was that he _didn't._

She hadn’t realized it right away. No, that had come after hours and hours of work, after calling in favor after favor and scouring criminal records and trying to get the permissions required to further her search all over again. It hadn’t been easy—the last time she’d even been in contact with the guys in Bastion City had been years ago at least—but eventually she found herself holding the papers she needed, and the story only got more complicated from there. 

Morrison had been a former docks worker (he’d worked for a lizardfolk-owned company that, understandably, had been absolutely mortified by his actions) and known criminal for a while now, his first confirmed conviction dating all the way back to four years ago when, horrifyingly enough, a dwarf had been found _partially devoured_ in the harbor area one cold morning. It had been officially attributed to him later through a combination of DNA analysis and a particularly scathing speak with dead session, and only _after_ he’d been caught in the middle of tearing yet another victim limb from limb. And yet, despite everything, he managed to evade capture again and again, which was probably due in part to the lack of media attention on his grisly murders—because there was nothing more dismal to potential visitors of Solace’s capital city than a serial killer who ate people. 

He’d gotten progressively more bold—or casual, really—over time, but although the frequency of his brutal killings had changed the characteristics did not. He routinely targeted creatures smaller than him, small enough to prevent them from fighting back against his overwhelming physical strength. He never left the harbors area, presumably because he knew it so well and because it was so easy to hide in. He never left a single body intact. 

But then, at the height of his activity, the murders stopped. The cases quit flowing in. At first, Sklonda was certain she’d missed something—a page hadn’t printed, a file had been lost—but after checking and re-checking she realized that this really was the end of the line. After a total of fourteen confirmed murders (with the actual total probably being much higher, because the corpses he left behind had been theorized to be the ones he _didn’t get to finish_ ), Morrison Barringer quit killing people, with his last victim being an elven noble visiting from Fallinel. And then… Nothing. Over a _full year_ had passed since anyone had heard anything out of him. Although it wasn’t necessarily unusual for fucked up people like that to take “breaks”, it wasn’t something that happened at the height of their notoriety, and definitely not when the culprit kept slipping out of reach into the waters below at every turn. 

It only got more dubious from there. While Morrison’s sudden disappearance from the limelight was in itself skeptical, what really sealed the deal was the coroner’s diagrams that Cynthia, a fellow detective she’d gotten close to while she still lived in Bastion City, had been gracious enough to help her dig up. Cynthia, a tiefling who had worked in her department a solid year before Sklonda joined, had found a lot of common ground with her and they’d hit it off pretty quickly. When she’d moved to Elmville, for all of the years they’d spent collaborating she had become another one of the many, many people she’d reluctantly left behind—and yet, thankfully, Cynthia had never forgotten. When she’d first emailed the document over with a grim _yeah, it’s nasty work,_ it had taken Sklonda a moment to notice what stood out the most, but when she did she’d nearly dropped everything to go grab Pok from the other room. And only a minute later, her suspicions had been confirmed.

One of the few defining features of the absolute messes that were Morrison’s attacks was the telltale imprints of long, jagged teeth on his victims—and, namely, the absence of one. He was missing a tooth on one side, something that had been consistently shown time and time again in every single one of the coroner’s diagrams. And after staring scrutinizingly at the still-healing scars on Pok’s face, to which he’d protested crossly the entire time, she was sure of it. There were no missing pieces, almost no break to the jagged line that slashed across his eye and nearly down to his neck. Unless Morrison had somehow gotten a replacement fang, which she heavily doubted due to the fact that hiding out from the authorities in the ocean and eating people for a living definitely didn’t pay well, this wasn’t his work. It _couldn’t_ be his work. 

Kalina, on the other hand, did not share her doubts. 

If anything, in the time between her first suggesting Morrison as a culprit and the quiet investigating Sklonda had done on her own, she’d almost doubled down on the idea of him being guilty. Her reasoning wasn’t illogical, either. Morrison, normally so complacent in his ability to push others around, could have absolutely been caught off guard by the Pok’s abilities—maybe even enough for him to get away. He had used to be a docks worker, up until he’d gotten ousted for literally eating people alive, and would know exactly how to traverse, sneak around, and get rid of any gory messes in the harbor area. According to Kalina, who essentially had ties _everywhere_ , he was far from an uncommon sight in the Bastion City criminal underworld as well. It all made sense—until it didn’t. 

Her insistence on Morrison was enough to make Sklonda wonder if there was something else behind Kalina’s efforts after all. She worked for a foreign government, and her past interactions with Pok had been almost entirely business. It would be so easy for her to have her own agenda, her own reasons to why she wanted _someone_ locked up for this, regardless of whether or not they actually did it. As she thought about it more and more, she even considered the possibility that maybe it was the opposite motive entirely—that her desire to see Morrison arrested came from a place of vengeful retribution instead. Maybe there was more behind the upbeat voice and calm, collected demeanor than met the eye. If there was room for things like genuine vulnerability and weakness and emotion in someone like Pok, maybe there was room for that in Kalina too. 

Or maybe not. But tonight, she would find out for sure. 

Sklonda’s plan had been to just present what she had the moment she got there, because frankly it didn’t seem worth it in the slightest to withhold something important like this, even if it set them back a few steps. You practically couldn’t turn around during an investigation without hitting a couple dead ends. So when she walked up to what had become their regular park table and saw Kalina standing there with a bold, devious glint in her eye, she immediately got a bad feeling about it. 

“You got any plans this weekend?” Kalina chirped as Sklonda hesitantly took a seat at the table, her overstuffed briefcase once again becoming the glaring centerpiece. Something she’d noticed about their ever-frequent meetings was that, compared to her own files and notes that often took up the entire table, Kalina hardly ever brought anything at all, preferring to provide just her own reasoning or suggest a new direction to take. While it had undoubtedly helped a lot over the past couple weeks, it didn’t build much of a paper trail either—and she never gave out copies of what little she _did_ have. “We’ve done a lot from here, but I think if we want to go further we could take this to the source—if you’re not busy, of course.” 

Kalina smiled warmly, and it took a great deal of restraint not to want to believe her—because it would have been so easy to. She’d learned the hard way that there was only so much she could do from Elmville, but despite all the progress and the adjustments they’d made she _couldn’t_ make herself leave her family again, not this soon. “I mean- God, I don’t know. It really hasn’t been that long since we got out of the hospital, I don’t think we’re-“

“Of course, of course. I completely understand,” She cut her off with a wave of her paw, her smile never fading for a second. “I’m just saying that you _consider_ it. There’s only so much investigating we can do outside of Bastion City, so we’d have to bite the bullet at some point anyway.” And for a little while, it looked like she had dropped it—Kalina waited for her to open up her briefcase and start forking over anything new, which today meant the coroner’s diagrams and criminal records that would probably end up killing the lead they’d put so much work into. Sklonda watched as she looked them over curiously, just seconds away from having to explain why this proved it couldn’t _possibly_ be Morrison, when suddenly Kalina paused. “And I know you’re just saying that because you’re worried about Pok. I get it.”

“I- I’m sorry, what?” Sklonda, caught off guard, was jolted out of her own imaginary argument.

Kalina’s expression softened the tiniest bit in a way that somehow felt both genuine and pitying. “I don’t blame you for wanting to keep an eye on him, you know. But the concern’s honestly really sweet. He’s _such_ a lucky guy, even when he doesn’t realize it.”

She tapped a claw on the table absentmindedly, but there was something in her voice that, for some reason, immediately set Sklonda on edge—it was that almost-sarcastic, almost-genuine note that drove her crazy trying to figure out what the hell Kalina was actually implying. Narrowing her eyes, she guardedly replied with “... What’s that supposed to mean?”

For the amount of uncertainty in her tone, Kalina seemed completely unfazed by it. She certainly didn’t _look_ like she’d been caught slipping. Instead she gestured for Sklonda to lean in closer like she was about to let her in on something big—which, begrudgingly, she did. “Hey. We know each other well enough by now, right? I can be honest here?”

It wasn’t reassuring in the slightest. After a moment, Sklonda nodded hesitantly. 

Kalina glanced around briefly in what was, concerningly, the first time she’d seen her look truly cautious. “Ever since I heard Pok got cut out of the Solisian secret service… I knew it was gonna kill him. You gotta understand, Sklonda, I’ve been around Pok for a long, long time, and he… He _loved_ the job. It was one of the few things he really, actually _loved_ —We know that, though. We both know that,” She fell quiet again for a moment, watching across the table intently as Sklonda tried to figure out where the hell she was going with this. “And he was always looking ahead, always thinking about the next adventure. It was the only thing he ever talked about, almost. He _lived_ for the mission,” She chuckled a little, but the sound was tinged with a weirdly bitter note. “I love the guy, I really do. And I don’t doubt that he cares about you and your son, but… He’s always been a spy first. Even when he can’t be.”

For a moment, Sklonda genuinely had no idea how to respond. After she’d stared into Kalina’s piercing eyes for at least a solid five seconds, she found enough of a voice to choke out a “How… What the hell does that have to do with _any_ of this? _”_ She didn’t bother to hide the incredulousness in her voice. Honestly, she was _lucky_ that that was the worst of what came out. 

Quickly, Kalina backed up a bit. “Hey, hey, I’m not trying to complicate things, promise. I just want to be honest with you, y’know? We’re all friends here,” She gestured at the space between them with a warm, reassuring smile. “I figured that, while it was just between us, I could afford to be direct about this. A little heads-up, if you will. Pok was a _fantastic_ agent—really one of the best. And when you get that great… It gets a little hard to see how good you’ve got it, you get what I’m saying? He just kept chasing that high, and for _you_ that means he’s always out of town, missing out on so much over the years... I’m sorry, Sklonda. I really am,” She gave Sklonda a comforting pat on the wrist, her eyes full of painful sympathy. “I get what you’re trying to do, but you couldn’t hold a guy like that in one place even if you tried. That’s why I thought we should just let him sit this one out. When you do everything to get to the top, sometimes that means cutting other people down. Even if that’s you.” 

And the worst part about it—the _worst_ part—was that, to some extent, Kalina’s words rang true. She knew that, right up until she’d met him in Bastion City all those years ago, he’d never been looking for something serious—stability or normalcy just wasn’t something he could provide _._ She knew how happy he’d been as an agent, how hard he’d worked to prove himself, and how scarily _good_ he was at doing what he did. She knew that it was going to be hard to balance being gone for months on end, almost _constantly_ in danger, and somehow find the time to be a husband and a father anyway. She knew having a family had never been part of the job.

But if there was one thing she’d learned by now, it was that it would have _never_ been easy. They were a family of Solisian goblins, for fuck’s sake, the odds had been against them from the start. Pok was a proud man, sure—and stubborn, and cocky, and infuriatingly confident, but he was still _kind._ If he had grown bored of them, if he had tired of having to come home to a life that couldn’t be more different than the one he spent months in foreign countries for, he would have left a long time ago. He wasn’t the one who had to prove himself to her. And as Sklonda stared into Kalina’s cool and relaxed and utterly _uncaring_ expression, she realized something else. 

For everything Kalina had done for her, for every step she’d helped her take, she did _not_ get to decide how she felt about this. She did not get to _fucking_ tell her what to think. She did not, after what they’d been through, get to say that to her _fucking face._

“Kalina, I need you to listen to me right here, right now,” And then she was leaning across the table, and then she was pointing a finger in her face, and then she was borderline hissing “Pok being an agent is not his goddamn _personality._ He just had his life _ruined,_ Kalina, of course he’s going to be _fucking upset._ Do you- Do you _really_ think he’s going to run off because I wasn’t watching him every second? Do you really, genuinely think that I should just leave him out of this because- What, he’ll get _jealous? ”_

“Oh, come on, Sklonda,” Kalina’s words were too little and too late. “I get it, things have been rough, but that’s why I’m trying to be honest with you here. I care about you guys, I really do, and I’ve been around him long enough to know-“ 

She wasn’t quite sure why that was the thing that made her snap. Maybe it was the frustration, the sheer stress and raw emotion she’d desperately been bottling up ever since Pok’s injury. Maybe it was the constant uncertainty of working with Kalina for this long in the first place. Maybe it was the fact that, despite everything they’d done, they were still no closer to catching the culprit. What she did know, though, was that there was a shake to her hands, and a fire in her throat, and that for the first time in a long time she was wholly, unabashedly _furious._

“No. _No_ , you don’t know. Don’t pretend that you understand what our lives are like,” her voice was low now, trembling with sheer anger. “Never fucking say that shit again, alright? _Never_ say that shit again. I don’t care. I don’t _fucking_ care.” 

The table went silent. 

Kalina would have seemed absolutely unfazed by Sklonda’s entire outburst if not for the slight widening of her eyes and the quiet twitch of her whiskers. And even then, she just stood there, completely still—waiting, watching for her to make the next move. Sklonda was still catching her breath. The shock and the frustration were wearing off fast, and in its place was… Honestly, not much at all. She was so exhausted by this whole ordeal that by the time her residual anger had boiled over, there was nothing left to replace it. They stood there and stared and stared and _stared_ until she began to wonder if they would be standing here all night, neither one of them wanting to make the call. 

Just as it was starting to dawn on her that maybe, just maybe, this had all been a horrible mistake, Kalina finally cleared her throat a little as a very, _very_ smug look flickered over her face. Sklonda’s stomach immediately dropped. “Okay, now that you’re done,” She brushed herself off and took a step back. “Can’t blame me for trying to help. You’re in the middle of a _very_ stressful time—I get it! So _I_ am going to keep working on this, and once you’ve dealt with all your deep-seated emotional issues you can reach back out, alright?” There wasn’t anything for her to take, so she just gave the table a cursory glance before shrugging nonchalantly and turning to leave. 

And then she stopped. “Oh, and Sklonda?”

There was nothing she could say that would make any of this better. Sklonda stared Kalina down and waited for her to go on. 

“Watch the temper next time, okay? One goblin in the hospital was bad enough. Let’s keep the number there.” 

When she turned the corner, she knew it was for the last time. Kalina would never contact her again. Sklonda took her briefcase, went home, and poured herself a drink.

* * *

She didn’t bring it up for a couple days. 

The memory of their last conversation—their last _argument_ —was tinged by an angry haze. It had taken until she’d gotten home that night for it to truly sink in that she’d fucked up. Kalina was suspicious, sure, and impossible to figure out, and may or may not have had her own agenda, but she’d still lost the only person truly able to help her. She could never have uncovered half of what she’d found out these past couple weeks without her influence. Now, she was gone, and with her every lead she’d brought to the table. 

With that realization came frustration, regret, and the kind of anxiety that made your blood burn and chest ache. Pok and Riz had very obviously noticed how upset she was, and although she’d tried to wave it off later as a shitty day at work—because she still couldn’t bring herself to break the actual news just yet—they clearly didn’t believe her. They’d left her be, mostly, and it was something she couldn’t have been more grateful for at the time. If she was feeling this conflicted over snapping at Kalina, she couldn’t imagine just how awful it would be if she took it out on one of them. 

And it was really only after a day or two that Sklonda realized just how far back this was going to set her. Now that she’d pretty definitely ruled out Morrison, that left her right back where she’d started—a vague profile, databases filled with hundreds, maybe thousands of potential candidates, and no leads whatsoever. The one thing that had kept her from trying to find _some_ way to get in contact with Kalina again was the fact that she just couldn’t trust her anymore. Not after the shit she’d said about Pok. It was at _best_ the most insensitive thing Kalina had ever said, and at worst… Well. Maybe that night in the hospital hadn’t been so coincidental after all. 

(Immediately after she’d thought it, she tried to get the idea out of her head. She did _not_ have the energy to start making a fucking conspiracy theory about Pok’s old work partner.)

So, when she’d finally run her course of anger, worry, and a deep guilt she just couldn’t shake, she decided she had to talk to Pok. 

To Sklonda’s own genuine shame, in what ended up happening she wasn’t even the one who had managed to chalk up the courage to bring it up. Three days after the initial incident, she’d finally brought herself to sit down on the couch long after everyone else had already gone to bed (well, at least Riz had) and start organizing her files again—what was actually useful, what wasn’t, and what _was_ useful but she couldn’t utilize it without Kalina’s help. She’d spent so much energy just trying to keep her thoughts from spiraling while she was working that she didn’t even notice the creak of the door, or the tapping of footsteps, until the soft weight of Pok taking a seat beside her nearly jolted her off the couch. 

He stared at her for a moment, as if he was trying to gauge just how likely it was that she would even want to talk in the first place. While he looked a little less tired than he’d been before, there was still a level of disheveledness—the ruffled button-up he hadn’t yet changed out of, the hair that had started to curl again after he’d stopped brushing it out so rigorously, the crooked eyepatch that, despite how much he complained about it scratching, he refused to take off—that she’d wasn’t used to seeing on him. Pok cleared his throat briefly before gently asking “... So, uh, you want to talk about what happened yet?” which wavered in a way that told her this was something he’d forgotten before and had to guiltily re-remember. 

For a moment, she seriously considered not going into it. She didn’t know if she could take Pok’s reaction—the half-disappointment, half-frustration, half-defeat that would inevitably come at the realization that most of this had all been for nothing, that they’d failed. But in the end, it wasn’t like it was _ever_ going to get any easier, so Sklonda took a deep breath and set down her stack of papers with clenched hands. There was no point in beating around the bush. “Kalina’s not coming back.”

Pok didn’t respond right away, and one look at his face told her that her fears had come true. He let out a long, quiet sigh, clearly doing everything in his power not to act discouraged. “Alright. Okay. We can still… What the hell did she _do? ”_

“It was my fault,” Sklonda forced herself to admit, even if she desperately wished she could have said with certainty that it was all Kalina’s doing. “She was obviously trying to rile me up, and it worked. I could have… I can’t fucking believe I fell for it. I was just starting to trust her, too. I really was.” 

The fact that she hadn’t actually said what Kalina had done to fuck with her was something she knew Pok could’ve spotted a mile away, but he kept listening instead of asking about it, which was probably the only reason she’d gotten herself to continue anyway. “You- You don’t remember ever getting into a _fight_ with Kalina, do you? If you’d heard the shit she was saying… Fuck, it was like you’d _done_ something to her.”

A flicker of recognition flashed in Pok’s eye, but it was so brief and so small that she didn’t think even he had realized it was there. He sat and thought for a moment before shaking his head slowly. “... No, I don’t _remember_ anything like that happening,” It was tinged with the slight bitterness she heard every time he _knew_ he’d forgotten something important. “But she’s tricky, though. I know that.” And then, despite everything, she watched as his expression softened slightly. “Don’t beat yourself up over getting mad—I would’ve gotten just as pissed if she’d said something like that about you. We went into this knowing it was risky, and… It’s not over yet, okay? It’s not over yet.” 

And she really did find herself relaxing a little at his words, the reassurance almost convincing her for a moment that it _would_ be okay. But then Sklonda looked back up at Pok again, and the lingering disappointment she saw there came crashing down once more. She’d been doing this for _him._ It was nice to get some personal vindication in, sure, but after everything that had happened to him she would have given anything to give Pok a little justice, a little closure for losing so fucking much—because she could tell he felt absolutely crushed by it, and it was terrifying. Over the past few weeks she’d watched helplessly as he tried and failed to hide how bitter and frustrated and genuinely upset he was, at the risk of losing the last bit of control he still had over himself. She’d seen the way he’d had to spend hours lying still trying to get over a headache and hate every moment of it. She’d seen the way the calls from his family got less and less frequent, how he kept making up excuses for them not to take the trip to Elmville to see him. She’d seen the way he sat awake at his desk sometimes, tracing the barrel of his arquebus with one claw and—for a moment, at least—let himself pretend. 

Sklonda had thought that maybe, just maybe, finding the fucker responsible would give him hope, that it would be enough to convince Pok that all the shit he’d gone through wasn’t for nothing. But today wouldn’t be that day. Tomorrow wouldn’t, either. And at this point she only had herself to blame. 

“I’m sorry,” She blurted out suddenly, the tremor in her voice catching him off guard. “I’m so fucking sorry, Pok. Not- Not just for Kalina, for _all_ of this,” Her eyes started tearing up, and she quickly moved to wipe them away in an attempt to maintain any semblance of composure. “I’ve been doing everything I can, but we haven’t gotten _anywhere._ It’s not enough and I don’t know if it’ll _ever_ be enough, and I can’t-“ Sklonda stopped, afraid that she was about to get choked up, and in that moment of weakness she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

“Hey, hey,” Pok said softly, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, okay? I’m not mad at you. You- You know I was _never_ mad, right?” There was a quiet worry in his words, and he reached out to clasp her hand between his, like a promise he was making. “I mean, you’ve been working non-stop on this even before we got out of the hospital. I’d have to be a fucking _idiot_ not to see that. And out of everyone with a stake in this shit—the Bastion City detectives, the guys in the secret service, Kalina-“ His eye brightened, and in that moment she saw all the cheer and confidence and determination she knew so well again. “There’s not one of them that I trust over you. I know you’ve got this.”

And as she tried to hold on to that hesitant sense of assurance, feeling a ghost of a smile flickering onto her face for all but a second, she watched as Pok teasingly shook her shoulder before adding “Besides, I’d be a real shitty agent if I didn’t let my partner have some time in the spotlight.” 

That, after everything that had gone down in the past few days, was what finally got Sklonda to bark out a laugh scratched rough by the tension in her throat—because, if nothing else, Kalina had been wrong about something. “Yeah, right. You wouldn’t shut _up_ about being the Solisian government’s first goblin agent for two fucking _years_ after I met you,” She gave him a playful shove, not without grabbing a fistful of his shirt a moment later to keep him from going anywhere. “If I had a gold piece every time you bragged about something like that, we’d have moved out of this damn apartment by now.” 

“You gotta admit, honey, it’s a _very_ nostalgic two and a half rooms. Really puts the ‘luxury’ in Strongtower Luxury Apartments,” For the first time in a long, long time, his words weren’t tinged with the grim undercurrent that had permeated everything they’d done since Pok had landed himself in the hospital. It felt like a conversation they could’ve had months ago, maybe even years ago, and it was comforting. It was _normal._

So Sklonda should have known it wouldn’t last.

After a moment, Pok’s expression sobered a little. “And I guess it’s been nice to slow down a bit in here, you know. Tidy up the apartment, spend some time with Riz, get back into the swing of things,” He tugged at the hem of his shirt, as if he was worried about the fresh, angry-looking scars that were lying just underneath the surface, despite his button-up being more than enough to keep them from view. “But we can’t keep doing this forever. _I_ can’t keep doing this forever.” 

He was right, as much as they didn’t want to admit it. The health insurance money the Solisian government had thrown them didn’t go beyond the initial medical costs, and they knew that the medication that was keeping things manageable was going to get pricey fast. There was a _very_ real possibility that Sklonda wouldn’t be able to make that much for the three of them. And, even if she could, she knew deep down that Pok would hate it—regardless of how ill he was, he would’ve never stopped trying to get back up again, to get back to the way of life he knew best. He’d be so disappointed in himself if he thought he couldn’t help support them. There was really no way to win.

Still, it felt too early for him to be doing this, because what she also knew was how painful it was going to end up being for the both of them. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can just jump back in whenever you feel like it,” She argued back, staying intentionally vague on what he was even supposed to be jumping back into. “You’re still _hurt,_ Pok. I know things have been getting better, but…” Sklonda trailed off with a sigh, the hard truth tasting bitter in her throat. “I just want you to be safe about this, that’s all.”

When he spoke next, there was no trace of lingering frustration—this time, it was all resignation. “I know. I know you do. But I don’t think it’s ever going to _be_ safe.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the forlorn acceptance in his voice, or the reminder yet again that he was really never going to be the same, but suddenly the tears were back in her eyes and it was taking all she had not to start crying again. “Hey, well, I guess some things never change,” With a half-hearted chuckle that quickly turned into a choked sniffle, the last of her efforts to keep it together cracked, and after a final moment of stubbornness Sklonda found herself burying her face into Pok’s shoulder as the sting in her eyes became too much to bear. They stayed like that for a long, long time—leaning on each other quietly, desperately, because they were both such fucking wrecks at this point that even _thinking_ about the weight of everything was enough to break down the composure they’d been trying so hard to maintain. And despite how much she hated to think it, she was glad she wasn’t in this alone.

Eventually, Pok pulled away enough so that only his arm was still around her shoulders, although the soft look in his eye had never faded. “How about we sleep on it, okay?” He said gently, and it only then dawned on Sklonda that this was probably the first time in a while that he’d had to do something like this for her. “I know, I know, it’s real rich coming from me. But _god_ , sweetheart, we’re not gonna be able to get anything done like this.” Pok laughed, but the noise was tired. Christ, they were both so _tired_.

As Sklonda nodded in agreement, it was only then that she realized just how much energy she’d been putting into this case—she couldn’t remember the last time she’d dedicated so much time and effort to an investigation. So it was no wonder that she’d gotten so fucked up over this, really, because even the best detectives got exhausted, got frustrated, and made _mistakes_. She just needed a moment to catch her breath, that was all, and by then she’d be able to look at this from another angle, one that wasn’t tinted by Kalina’s influence. She would start over, and it was going to suck, but it would be fine. They would have a plan again, and they would be okay.

So when she finally got to her feet—Pok’s arm still around her shoulders keeping her steady for what felt like the first time in years, listening to him talk about what he’d have to write down in one of his brand-new notebooks _just in case_ —she was too tired and distracted to grab for the files she’d left on the coffee table. And when she closed the door behind her, she didn’t notice another creak, another tap on the floorboards, and the glint of bright yellow eyes from behind. 

And the next morning, when the paperwork on the table was slightly out of order and Riz kept guiltily dodging her eye, Sklonda pretended not to notice that either. 

* * *

She liked to think things were coming together quite nicely. 

It had been a long time, admittedly, since Kalina had last had the opportunity to have a little fun with the Gukgaks. She’d actually started to look _forward_ to meeting up with Sklonda every couple days, presenting a tidbit of mostly falsified evidence, and watching as she went wild over it. Kalina hardly even had to _do_ anything—she just got to sit back and watch as Sklonda did all the work. It was a bit sad, honestly. She really was desperate, and that made it so easy to steer her in the wrong direction. 

But all good things had to come to an end, whether that was the highly successful career of a goblin secret agent or her fun evening meetups with Sklonda Gukgak. She’d been enjoying herself, sure, but she was a very busy woman. She had people to manipulate, crowns to steal, and deadlines to meet. And besides, Kalina had thrown her so off base by now that she _highly_ doubted it was something she’d ever come back from—at least, not in a way that would lead her to Goldenhoard. Those roads were gone. She’d made sure of it. 

It’d been pretty funny seeing the look of sheer outrage on Sklonda’s face, though. She clearly hadn’t seen it coming, and _that_ was how Kalina knew she’d gotten her good. Even if she’d embellished the details here and there, it must have struck a chord or two. Pok was far from perfect, and it had felt good to dig the knife back in after he’d had the gall to try and call her out like that. But that was in the past now. It was time to move on. 

Which left her with the final issue of Morrison Barringer. 

Whether or not she’d actually be able to fulfill her end of the bargain to Morrison didn’t mean much to her, although she’d anticipated keeping Sklonda hooked a little longer than what had ended up happening. There was nothing special about him, really, but there _had_ been something special in the elven advisor to the Court of Stars that Morrison had devoured who had taken _months_ of convincing to get her into Kalina’s pocket. He’d served as a convenience and nothing else. And now that the job was done, it didn’t seem fitting to leave a loose end running free in the streets of Bastion City. 

Although, when she found herself in a dark, damp alleyway staring down an increasingly furious lizardfolk, she hadn’t realized just how _irritating_ he was going to be about it. 

“-The _fuck_ do you mean, _it’s not gonna work out?”_ Morrison snarled, his fins rattling menacingly as he loomed over her. “We had a goddamn deal, Kalina—I take the heat for your fuckin’ buddy or whatever, and you lay off the threats and let me do what _I_ gotta do. You can’t just back out of this shit! Do you _know_ who you’re dealing with?” 

In the midst of his growling and hissing over her head, Kalina gave him a noncommittal shrug. “Sorry, Morrison, but the gig’s up. It’s not my problem anymore, and it’s not yours either. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?” She smiled up at him, all cool and collected and casual, and she could practically _see_ the smoke and sparks coming out from between his clenched teeth. 

“No, no, I don’t think you get what’s going on here,” He took a step forward, rapidly closing the gap between them. “People don’t get to waste my fucking time, Kalina. I could care less about some goblin you wanted six feet under, but I _do_ care about getting you off my damn back. But you know what?” And then Morrison was slamming a hand onto the wall behind her, causing cracks to spiderweb across the bricks as he snapped his jaws threateningly. “You’re _full_ of shit. You thought you could pull a fast one on ol’ Barringer, huh? Well, hate to break it to you, but this gator’s smarter than he looks, and I think I’m just about fucking ready to put _cat_ on the menu-“

With speed that was genuinely impressive for his amount of bulk and lack of common sense, Morrison _lunged_ at her like a rabid dog. When he reached out to crush her arm with his claws and pull her in, she didn’t move. She didn’t even flinch. He was a fucking idiot, and it was absolutely hilarious to see the pure shock and horror on his face when, instead of rending her to pieces, he fell right through her and crashed into the brick wall on the other side. 

While he was scrabbling to his feet, Kalina took a couple steps to the left to watch as he gaped at her, breathing heavily and looking more furious than ever. She pretended to brush herself off, and gave a subtle nod to the demons she’d called for to start stepping out of the shadows. She’d always prided herself for that step of her plan—demons were notoriously hard to negotiate with, but once you had them in the palm of your paw they were just as easy to pawn around like anyone else. They could take it from here. She had places to be. 

Before she turned to leave, she let her smile twist eerily as she stared him down. “Morrison, I don’t think you’re going to be doing much of anything anymore.” 

When Kalina began to walk away, he didn’t even have the chance to chase after her. She listened as he let out a roar of fury, then a cry of surprise, then a scream of horror while the Barlguras and Vrocks she’d been lent got to work. It was always nice to see a loose end get tied up. 

She hoped Sklonda would see it in the news next morning. Wouldn’t that be a riot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly I can't thank u guys enough for continuing to read this like. man. if you even got to the end of this massive fucking chapter then kudos to you  
> This is just about the halfway point for what I have planned, which is both exciting and very concerning!! however I don't think I'll be able to work on the next chapter much during december bc I signed up for the d20exchange 😳 so watch out for that! also when I finally get to the riz pov chapters... :)


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